


And the Oscar Goes to...

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Infidelity, M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Hollywood's hottest rising stars needs a little help with some real-life acting. Mickey has no desire to be in the limelight, but he's had enough fantasies about tinseltown's (via the south side) Ian Gallagher. So when Ian's management comes to Mickey with an offer, he can't refuse. Ian needs a fiance, and the club for queer kids in the south side that Mickey and Mandy are having built needs an endorsement and a cash influx.</p>
<p>It's a win-win for everyone. As long as Ian's ex-boyfriend stays out of the way. And as long as no one falls in love. Who knows? Maybe someone will have a happy ending by the time the credits roll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Oscar Goes to...

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [merle_p](http://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p) for the amazing as always beta and insights. You're awesome, my friend.
> 
> Also to my jaw-droppingly talented artist [theunforgivngminute](theunforgivngminute) for her incredible art.

It’s not like Mickey actively follows Ian’s career. Because that would be gay and, even though Mickey is, he’s not _that_ gay. Not like Mandy who buys all the tabloids with Ian’s picture on them, reading about his supposed love affairs. Not that that makes Mandy gay, obviously, but...

Mickey’s forgotten how hard denial is. 

But all of the press – even the real shit – was pairing Ian with anyone up and coming, over the hill, and somewhere in between. One week he was Meryl Streep’s new boytoy and the next he was dating some new porn star and then the next it was some ingenue starring in a CW drama. Interestingly enough, Ian was always paired with some chick, because that’s what all gay guys do, right?

Okay, Mickey did, but that was sort of a survival mechanism.

Anyway, it may be that he knows what Ian’s up to in LA because he’s about to start filming a movie and Mandy leaves her shit all around the apartment and the office, and Ian’s dating Anna Kendricks. He’s also been seen with Anthony Mackie, and Mickey would much rather imagine that. Because Anthony Mackie is fucking hot.

Not that Mickey really has time to worry about or fantasize about Ian Gallagher’s love life. He’s busy running a temp agency in LA, putting out of work actors into real life situations, promising them experience. He says it’s for authenticity in their parts, but really it’s just so that they won’t starve when the whole Hollywood thing doesn’t work out. 

“Mickey Milkovich?”

“Yeah.” A guy walks into the office and sets his briefcase on the edge of Mickey’s desk. Mickey stares at him, unblinking. “Help you?”

“You’re Mickey?”

“That’d be what I said.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“What’s that?” Mickey leans back in his seat, templing his fingers. “An offer I can’t refuse?”

“I want to hire someone. Discreet. Seriously discreet. I have a client who needs a...beard, for lack of a better word.”

“You live in a city full of beards. You have the money to hire someone, you can just go out on the street and hit up any corner.”

“I need someone _good_. I need someone who has no desire to be an actor, but who can be one. I need someone realistic. I need someone who has a job. I’m willing to pay, and I can guarantee you that, by the end of the contract, you’ll have more business than you’ll know what to do with.”

“I don’t have anyone like that.”

“You are someone like that, Mr. Milkovich. Because I also want someone from the south side of Chicago.” He opens the briefcase and turns it around. There was a serious amount of money, all bundled neatly. “I want to hire you.”

“Shit. This really is an offer I can’t refuse, isn’t it?” Mickey doesn’t touch the money, though he’s tempted. “How much is that?”

“Fifty-thousand dollars. To start.”

“To _start_? What the fuck is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to be Ian Gallagher’s fiance.”

Mickey laughs, nearly choking. He grabs his water and drinks some down. “You’re shitting me, right? Is this some goddamned Candid Camera thing or something?”

The guy doesn’t laugh. “Ian’s in a position where he can’t concentrate on his work because he’s constantly being pursued by the paparazzi and...wannabes. He has a major picture coming out and we want the press to be focused on him, not whoever’s on his arm.”

“He doesn’t date dudes.”

“Actually, he exclusively dates...dudes.”

Mickey’s brow furrows. “Well, in the papers he’s always seen with a chick.”

“Not enough men in Hollywood are out, so the press has to be careful who they suggest he be paired with. Women are easier.”

“But he _is_ gay. And out. So why does it matter if the papers think he’s fucking someone with tits?”

The man closes the briefcase and rests his hands on top of it. “Mr. Gallagher knows that you and your sister are spearheading a youth center for queer teens in Chicago’s south side. You and Ian are both from the area. You have a vague history together. This could be a benefit to both of you.”

“So I come from the ghetto and you think I should pretend to be dating Ian Gallagher? Because fucking someone like me would be the only reason he’d help disenfranchised youth?”

He sighs and finally sits down. “Mickey. May I call you Mickey?”

“You just did, dude.” 

“Right. I think this is possibly the stupidest idea that anyone has ever had. I mean, I can understand him not wanting to have to fend off the advances of women, though if he thinks being gay is going to stop that, then he’s delusional, but I don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to let the guys know he’s available.”

“He’s trying to establish his career? He doesn’t want relationships to take away from what he’s doing?” Mickey shrugs. “How’m I doing so far?”

“Can you tell me why he asked me to come to you?”

Mickey sighs. “Like you said. Grew up in the same neighborhood. Sort of knew each other. Makes it an easier story to sell, right?”

“Did he know you’re...”

“We weren’t friends. I don’t know what Gallagher knew about me. We mostly knew each others fathers – his is a drunken asswipe and mine’s a homophobic psycho. Ian went out with my sister for a while, so he was on my dad’s radar. On my radar. But Mandy said he was good and he seemed to be decent to her, so I didn’t have any cause to deal with him.” Mickey shrugs. “My dad got life and Mandy and I got the fuck out of Dodge. The end.”

“High school friends.”

“If by friends you mean I could recognize him because he’s got red hair, sure.”

“We can sell high school friends. High school sweethearts?”

“Fuck no.”

“Hmm.” He drums his fingers on the briefcase. “Ian wasn’t sure you’d be willing to do this. He said you’re not big on lying these days.”

“The reason my dad got life is because he was back in jail for attacking me when I came out in the middle of the local bar because he pissed me off and was talking about marrying me to some whore and some guy made the mistake of trying to hit on him. The guy ended up dead, Terry got life, and Mandy and I got to _have_ a life. Like I said. The end.” Mickey laughs. “This is LA. Everyone lies.”

“Will you do it?”

“How much of a douche is he?”

“Ian?” 

“No, the fucking Pope. Yes, Ian. Dipshit.”

“He’s not. Your sister was right. He’s a nice guy. Genuinely nice. Hasn’t lost that yet.” He looks at the briefcase and then at Mickey. “Will you do it?”

“Tell him he can buy me dinner tonight, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” He starts to take the briefcase, but Mickey stops him, opens it and takes out one of the stacks of bills. 

“We’ll call this a down payment. You get it back if it doesn’t pan out. Minus my usual fee for my time.” Mickey takes one of his business cards and writes on the back of it. “My address. He can pick me up at eight.”

He gives Mickey a thin smile and takes the card. “All right.”

**

“I’m not fucking nervous.”

Mandy raises an eyebrow and gives Mickey a knowing look in the mirror. “You’re nervous. Don’t be ashamed, Mick. Lots of guys are nervous when they go on their first date.”

“It’s not my first date.”

“Name one other date you’ve been on. A _date_ , Mick. Not a fuck in an alley or in a club, not some guy you brought home to fuck.”

“I dated Paul.”

“You brought Paul home and he refused to leave. You had to get a restraining order because you couldn’t afford a murder charge.” Mandy shakes her head. “It’s your first real date. With a _booooooy_.”

Mickey flips her off and ties his tie and then takes it off and throws it onto the dresser. He unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt and nods. “Better. Fuck.”

“You’re seriously going to do this? I mean...It’s being in the news and the papers and being ‘Ian Gallagher’s mystery man’. That’s not going to be easy. You don’t do well with people hounding you.”

“I deal with you, don’t I?”

“You have to deal with me. I know where all the bodies are buried.”

“It’s just dinner. Doesn’t mean shit. I’ll probably hate the guy, turn down his very nice offer, come home, drink a beer and pass out.” He does up one of the buttons then undoes it again before blowing out a breath. “Fuck.”

Mandy stands up and comes over to him, turning him around to face her. She fixes his collar and smooths his shirt down over his chest. “Relax. Just remember, he’s not Steven Seagal. You’ve never jerked off thinking about him.” She narrows her eyes. “Have you? Oh, god. Don’t tell me if you have. That’s just...you’re not allowed to jerk off thinking about my ex-boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t really your boyfriend. You were his beard. God, what is with our family. We’re like fucking Beards ‘R Us.”

“Special discount for Gallaghers.” She laughs and then waggles her eyebrows when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it.”

“Don’t scare him off.”

“That’s your job,” she practically sings as she heads to the door. She swings it open and stands there, grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat. “Well, well. You’re a little late for our prom date.”

“Shit. Mandy? I didn’t know you’d be here.” Ian steps into the apartment and grabs her in a huge hug, swinging her in a circle. “Fuck.” He sets her down and beams at her, grinning from ear to fucking ear. 

“Mickey and I share this place. Well, I keep my shit here.” She hugs him tight. “God it’s good to see you. You look good. You’re fucking famous, you asshole.” She slaps his arm. Mickey leans against the bedroom door and watches them. He vaguely remembers Ian as a kid – he started off a scrawny, goofy thing and grew up very fucking nicely – but Mickey never gave him much thought. He had too much of a self-preservation instinct back then. He didn’t even _think_ about guys except when he was alone in his room in the dead of night. “I can’t believe you. Asshole.”

Ian hugs her again and then takes a deep breath. “So, where’s...”

Mickey clears his throat. “I don’t want to break up the reunion here. Maybe you two should go out to dinner?”

Ian’s eyes meet Mickey’s and then they work their way down, slow and appraising. Mickey knows what he looks like. He’s decently built, decent looking. He’s been told he’s got a fuckable mouth and his eyes have been compared to a whole lot of poetic shit, but he also knows he’s got shitty tattoos on his fingers and when he’s dressed up he looks like he’s wearing a costume. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“I remember telling you that if you hurt my sister, I’d make you wish you were dead long before I killed you.”

“I remember that too.” Ian grins and it’s even more powerful when the full force of it is directed at Mickey. “I was scared shitless of you.”

“Good.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and manages a smile in return. “So.”

“Right. Dinner.” Ian shrugs a little. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want to do. Something fancy or semi-fancy or a total dive. So...how do you feel about dinner here? We can order food – my treat – and just sit around and talk. I can answer your questions without worrying about someone overhearing. Plead my case.”

“Convince me your stupid idea isn’t as stupid as it sounds?”

“Yeah.” He smiles again. 

“Sure. You staying, Mands?”

“Oh, hell no. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” She darts over and hugs Ian again before grabbing her purse. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“It’s dinner, Mandy, not a porno, so we’re safe.”

She flips Mickey off and leaves, letting all the tension back into the room before she closes the door. Mickey nods toward the kitchen. “We’ve got some menus here. What are you in the mood for?”

“What’s good in this neighborhood?”

“Lots of good stuff. Depends on what you want.” He takes a handful of menus out of a drawer and tosses them on the counter in front of Ian rather than think about how Ian might interpret what he just said. Not that he really thinks Ian wants anything more from him than his dubious acting skills. “I’ll eat from any of these places, so pick what you want.”

Ian thumbs through the menus, a frown furrowing his forehead. Mickey opens the refrigerator and grabs two beers, cracking them open and setting one next to Ian’s hand. Ian glances up and smiles, wrinkling his nose. “Trying to get me drunk, huh?”

“Yeah. With shit beer.” Mickey laughs. “Can afford better shit now, but...well, grew up with this. Acquired a taste.”

“You’ve got a refined palate. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Ian picks up one of the menus and hands it over. “How about this place?”

Mickey takes the menu and grabs the phone. “You want anything in particular?”

“You choose. It’ll be our first test to see how well you know me.”

“I don’t fucking know you at all, fuckhead.” Mickey dials. “Go sit down.”

Ian salutes him and goes back into the living room. The salute reminds Mickey that Mandy had told him Ian wanted to go into the Army, but something had gone wrong. But then, on the south side of Chicago, something always went wrong. He orders a few different dishes and then hangs up, grabbing plates and silverware and carrying them into the living room. Ian’s on the couch with the TV on, flipping through channels. 

“No, really. Make yourself at home.”

“Okay.” Ian kicks off his shoes and puts his feet up on the coffee table. 

He grins at Mickey and Mickey’s torn between smiling and punching him in the face. Instead he flops on the couch next to Ian. “Stop taking up the whole couch. Scoot over.” He elbows Ian’s arm and Ian scoots maybe an inch. Mickey raises his eyebrows and Ian presses his lips together to keep from smiling more. “Asshole. Seriously. You sure you want me to do this? Because you’re not acting like you’re up for boyfriend of the century.”

“Fiance.”

“Right. Fiance. Why fiance? I mean, why not just dating?”

“I want it to be something more permanent. Less...ephemeral. I want it to be something people will have a harder time assuming is fake, you know?”

“A sudden fiance is less fake than a sudden boyfriend?”

“Ah. Well. Not sudden. I haven’t really dated anyone since I moved to LA. Because of you.”

“What now?”

“I mean, we knew each other back in Chicago.”

“In the vaguest sense of the word.”

“Right, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Maybe...Mandy was my cover and I was really seeing you. I’d go out on a date with her, but end up spending it with you while she went to the movies or got laid or something. We’d hide out in the abandoned buildings of the old apartment complex and shoot and smoke and make out.”

“You’ve given this some thought, huh? And why didn’t I let everyone know after I came out and after you became the biggest Hollywood hotshot in years?”

“Well, we’d broken it off – completely amicably, of course – and you called to congratulate me on the part I had on Criminal Minds and we started talking again. Long distance so we took it slow, but once it started...” Ian shrugs. 

“Okay, so how long have you been planning this, exactly?”

“A couple of days.”

“You should write chick flicks instead of act in them. Christ.” Mickey sighs. “Another beer? I need another beer.”

“Sure.”

Mickey escapes to the kitchen and grabs two more beers out of the fridge, holding one against his forehead. He has got to be completely insane to even be considering this proposition. Because the thing about pretend fiances is that they _are_ pretend. He goes back out and hands Ian his beer then sits down. “You’re asking me to put my life on hold for you.”

Ian sighs. “Yes. But you can say no. Obviously. I mean, I don’t know if you’re currently seeing anyone, in which case, you should say no. And if you met someone, you could...we could break it off, you know? No questions asked, no hard feelings.”

“How long would we be engaged?”

Ian muffles a laugh. “Are you already hounding me about a wedding date?” The doorbell rings and Ian gets up. “Saved by the bell.”

“For the moment.” Mickey turns on the couch and watches Ian as he goes to the door and pays for the food. It smells delicious and spicy and Mickey’s stomach growls. 

Ian nods. “Shit, this smells so good. If we live together, we’re living here so that I can eat from this place forever.”

“And lose that girlish physique?”

“Fuck you, girlish physique.” Ian sits next to him and pulls the food out of the box, setting it on the coffee table. “So, what do we have?”

Mickey hands Ian a plate and a fork then uses his to point to the boxes. “Pad thai, som tam, geng kneaw wan gai, rice, and tom yam goong.”

“I have no idea what any of that is beyond the pad thai, so I’m totally trusting you here.”

“Yeah, yeah. First real test of our relationship.” Mickey dishes out his own food and settles back on the couch. “Twenty questions.”

Ian serves himself and then leans back as well, turning slightly so he can see Mickey, his knee bent as he rests it on the couch. “You ask or me?”

“We’ll trade off.” Mickey takes a bite and chews. “Top or bottom?”

“Wow. Let’s go straight for the good stuff.”

“No straight anywhere around here, Gallagher.”

Ian snorts and coughs, choking on his bite. He sets his plate down and takes a long drink of his beer before picking the plate back up again, giving Mickey a warning look. “Top. You?”

“You’d better hope I’m a bottom, huh?”

“I can switch. Just prefer topping.” Ian shrugs. “Pretty sure People magazine isn’t going to be asking us that question though.”

“Probably not. Star might.” Mickey grins. “I can switch it up too, but for the most part you pitch and I catch.”

“Is that some call back to our days of little league together?”

“You played little league with me?”

Ian presses his hand over his heart. “Wounded, Mickey. _Wounded_.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “Favorite movie?”

“Double Impact.”

“Seriously? You’re being serious?” Mickey shakes his head. “No. This is off. You’re...Van Damme, really?”

“Well, what’s yours?”

“Dude, Die Hard. Robocop. Total Recall. Under Siege. Fucking...anything, pretty much.”

“Oh, fuck off. Van Damme is _awesome_.”

Mickey shakes his head and stabs a shrimp off his plate. “You were dropped on the head as a child, weren’t you? It’s the only explanation.”

Ian reaches out with his fork and stabs a shrimp from Mickey’s plate. “Favorite food.”

“Macaroni and cheese.” Mickey raises an eyebrow, daring Ian to say something. When he doesn’t, Mickey nods. “Yours?”

“We grew up on spaghetti. Cheap and easy. I should hate it, but I don’t. The cheaper the sauce the better. None of those fucking vegetables or spices or herbs or whatever. Red glop over noodles. I’ll eat that shit up with a spoon.” Ian eats a few more bites. “Anyone you’ve ever been serious with?”

“Nah. I’m not exactly the kind of guy most people look at as relationship material. Mostly I just fuck around. What about you?”

“A couple when I was a kid. One guy since I came out here.”

“Wait, who’d you bang when you were a kid?”

Ian blushes and Mickey waits. He’s had a lot of practice at waiting, and Ian cracks before he does. “Nobody you know.”

“You’d be fucking surprised who the Milkovichs knew. C’mon. Out with it.”

“You remember the Kash and Grab?”

“Yeah. Of course. I stole from that fucker all the time. Why? You fucking one of the guys that worked there or something?” Ian blushes a bright red that overtakes the pale freckles on his face. “Who worked there? Wait. You worked there.”

“Yeah.” Ian looks down at his food and doesn’t say anything else.

Mickey frowns and then his eyes widen. “Holy _fuck_. You were fucking _Kash_? That towel-head motherfucker? I should have known that asshole was a fucking pedophile.”

“I was fifteen.”

“Like I fucking said.” Mickey sets his plate down. “Jesus. Why didn’t you report him to the cops or something? Or tell Mandy so my brothers and I could have fucked him up for you?”

“Well, because I wanted it. And because the thought of you and your brothers knowing I was gay was about the scariest thing I could think of. You’d have beaten the shit out of me too.”

“Not if we knew he was taking advantage of you.”

Ian smirks, a rough laugh pushing past his lips. “I don’t think it’s taking advantage of me when I’m the one sticking my dick in his ass.”

“Pretty sure that if you’re fifteen it doesn’t matter whose dick is where. Fuck. He was married and had two kids. What kind of sick fuck does that?”

“Okay, so let’s drop this subject.” Ian’s blushing still, his face awash with red. Mickey stares at him open-mouthed. “Please?”

“Who else?”

“Not dropping it, I guess.” Ian sighs. “Roger Spikey.”

“Oh, you are _shitting_ me.” Mickey cracks up, kicking his feet against the couch. “I knew that motherfucker was gay. I _knew_ it. Fucking donkey dick.”

“Well, I don’t know if he was gay so much as really keen on getting a blow job. And I mean, I don’t know what a real donkey’s dick looks like, but Roger was...impressive. At least at the time.”

“Fuck.” Mickey laughs. “Anyone else?”

“One guy you definitely don’t know. North side doctor. Met him at a gay club. I don’t know if we were serious so much as...” Ian shrugs.

“So, you’ve got some serious thing for old dudes, huh?” Mickey scratches his jaw. “I mean, I’m a year older than you, but I’m not sure I fit the bill.”

“The guy I was with out here was my age.”

“What happened with him?”

Ian’s shoulders tense. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

“Is he gonna come up? I mean, you said you’d been pining for me and shit.” Mickey takes another bite of his dinner. “Was he your way of trying to forget me and your broken heart?”

Ian smiles, and the tension seems to leave him. “Something like that, yeah.” He takes a drink of his beer and clears his throat. “My turn, right? So you know why I want to do this. Why are you considering it?”

“You mean other than the phrase ‘fifty thousand dollars to start’?” Mickey lets his head fall against the back of the couch. “You remember my dad, right?”

“Your dad’s hard to forget.”

“Right. Well. I was scared to death to come out. Scared that I wouldn’t live through the experience. Almost didn’t.” Mickey sighs. “I can use the money for the center Mandy and I are building. Those kids...I was one of those kids. There weren’t any safe spaces for me. Even the fucking closet wasn’t safe, you know?”

“I sort of heard about what happened when you came out.”

“The worst part.” Mickey straightens up and grabs his beer, drinking it down in several long swallows. “The worst part was that the guy I was with when I came out? Not dating. Fucking, I guess. He heard about what happened, and flipped out. He wasn’t interested in a _relationship_. People knowing he was gay was one thing. People knowing he was slumming with me...well, that was something different all together.”

“What a dick. Who was it?”

“Nobody. Just some guy.” Mickey shrugs. “Anyway, I want those kids have a safe space. Helping you means helping them. Fifty grand’s a drop in the bucket for something like this, but it’s a pretty big drop. And not one I’m about to turn down.”

“So.” Ian considers Mickey carefully, as if he’s weighing his answer. “We’re going to do this?”

“You keep eating the shrimp off my fucking plate. As far as I’m concerned we’d better be fucking engaged or I’m gonna have to rip your fucking hands off.”

Ian laughs and Mickey stares. He’s seen Ian laugh, seen him smile, seen him shoot guns, seen him beat up bad guys, seen him get the girl. Fifty feet tall on the big screen has nothing on up close and personal. “So, how should we do this? We could do the basic things. Getting seen out together at dinner. Not calling attention to ourselves, but getting their attention.”

“Makes sense. How you gonna play off the questions about where I’ve been all your life? Your Criminal Minds gig was two years ago.” Mickey flushes as Ian’s smile gets fucking wider. 

“You’ve seen my stuff?”

“I knew you were on the show.”

“Did you watch it?”

Gallagher’s like a goddamned puppy dog seeking approval. Mickey just raises an eyebrow. “You’re getting off track.”

“You’re shy about the public. But now that we’ve gotten engaged, you’re trying to be more visible.” Ian shrugs. “I mean, you don’t seem like the publicity seeking kind of guy, but you definitely seem like the kind of guy who’d do it for me.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll do it for you.” Mickey emphasizes the words so they have the dirtiest connotation possible. Ian blushes and Mickey just stares. “You’re fucking _blushing_? You were having hot and heavy sex with a guy twice your age and you’re blushing about getting turned on?”

“I just didn’t...expect it.” Ian’s skin flushes darker. “I mean, obviously people are going to think we’re...doing stuff.”

“Doing stuff.” Mickey nods. “Yeah. They’ll probably think we’re fucking. I mean, I might be going out on a limb here, but I think it’s a good bet.” He laughs at Gallagher’s bright red face. “Shit, you didn’t think this through at all, did you?”

“Fuck you, I did too.” 

“Yeah? How often do we fuck?”

“Once a night and twice a day on weekends. When I’m on location we have phone sex. You call me honey bunny.”

“Like fuck I do.” Mickey kicks Ian’s ankle. “Three times a day on weekends. I call you Gallagher, because everyone else calls you Ian. We don’t speak the name you call me out loud in public.”

“Remember our first time?”

“You mean the first date from hell?”

“That’s not quite how I remember it.” It’s Ian’s turn to arch an eyebrow this time, waiting for Mickey’s story. 

“No? You don’t remember me swiping that purse off the unattended stroller so that I could take you to some semi-fancy restaurant? And the cops and the mom and baby showing up while you were in the bathroom so I got hauled to the station and was gone when you came out? So you had to pay for dinner?”

“Hmm. Vaguely rings a bell.”

“And how bad your stupid phone was so you only got about half the words when I called you to get you to bail me out.”

“With the money I spent paying for dinner. That we didn’t eat.” Ian’s grinning, and Mickey can’t help doing the same. 

“Of course, no one could verify it was me, and we’d ditched the purse, so I got out of there pretty easy. And you were waiting outside, sitting on a fucking cop car with a fucking Taco Bell bag.”

“Tacos were less than a buck!”

“And we ran off down the street and climbed into that abandoned car under the El tracks eating our tacos and squirting each other with hot sauce packets.” 

“Doesn’t sound like a date from hell.” Ian shakes his head, looking at Mickey thoughtfully. “You were a little spicy when I kissed you.”

“Fire sauce.”

“I remember.” 

Mickey grins and shakes his head. “We’re a little too good at this.”

“I’m an actor. What’s your excuse?” Ian pokes Mickey in the side, grinning as Mickey curls in on himself, stifling a sound. “Oh, man. You’re _ticklish_?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I wouldn’t.” Ian can’t fake innocence for _shit_. Mickey straightens up and smiles at him. This is the worst fucking idea he’s ever been part of in his entire fucking life. “It’s just a good thing to know. For when all those magazines ask me for something about you.”

“You’re gonna tell them that I’m ticklish?”

“Well, it beats telling them all the _other_ ways I know to make you beg.” Ian raises an eyebrow and Mickey laughs. _Such_ a bad idea. “So. You think you’re willing to do this?”

Mickey rubs his thumb over his lower lip. “Give me a day to think about it?”

Ian nods. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“The guy you don’t want to talk about. Is he going to be a problem? I don’t particularly feel like coming home to find some guy waiting for me with a baseball bat.” 

“No. He won’t be a problem.” Ian stretches, his shirt rising up to expose a stripe of skin as he lifts his arms over his head. It reminds Mickey of the move everyone does in the movies, and he wants to laugh, but Ian doesn’t try to put his arm around him. “Speaking of coming home.”

“Yeah?” Mickey raises an eyebrow, because this is where everything gets dicey if he says yes. Because Mickey’s got eyes, and he can see that Ian Gallagher is one fucking attractive guy that Mickey wouldn’t kick out of bed for eating crackers. So living with him here would be absolutely impossible, because he’s pretty sure Ian wouldn’t fit if he had to sleep on the couch.

“You could stay at my place. I’ve got two spare bedrooms, so you’d have your own space.” Ian looks slightly uncomfortable, and Mickey frowns. 

“We’re living together? I mean, before we’re married? Is that the kind of guy you think I am?”

“Kinda.” 

Mickey laughs. “Okay. Give me your phone number or email or something, and I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“Cool.” Ian flips over the receipt for the food and scribbles on it. Mickey looks at him incredulously and Ian sighs dramatically and rewrites everything so it’s actually legible. “You want to go to a movie?”

“And be seen in public?”

Ian sighs. “You want to watch a movie?”

“Sure. Let me clean this shit up. DVDs are in the drawer over there. Pick something. You’re not going to find any Van Damme though, so dashing those hopes right now.” Mickey grabs the plates and the leftover food, carrying it all into the kitchen. He dumps the food into plastic containers and shoves it in the fridge. It’ll be gone after Mandy comes home, since she lives on leftovers. Mickey grabs two more beers and heads back into the living room. “What’d you go with?”

Ian’s sprawled on the couch, making himself at home. “Big Trouble in Little China.”

“Excellent choice.” Mickey hands Ian a beer and stares at him, waiting for him to move. Ian decidedly doesn’t, so Mickey rolls his eyes and sits on the floor in front of the couch. He can practically _feel_ Ian’s grin, and the urge to punch him is pretty strong, but Mickey contains himself. “You’re aware that’s actually my couch, right?”

“I’m a guest.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

Ian laughs and leans in, his breath ghosting against Mickey’s ear. “Only if you say you’ll marry me.”

**

Ian falls asleep. 

Mickey can’t fucking believe it, but it gives him a chance to look at him. He’s just as gorgeous in person as he is on the screen. Better. Mickey expected something flawed without the makeup and photoshopping, and maybe there’s a tiny spot on his jaw where he probably nicked himself shaving and then scratched at it. And his freckles are brighter than in the movies and on TV where they probably tone them down with foundation or powder or something like that. Mickey knows fuck-all about how the movies actually work. Just how they don’t work out for most people.

He looks at Ian’s hands. One of his arms is hanging off the couch, and his fingers are dangling. They’re long and thin. Not delicate, but kind of graceful. Mickey looks at his own hands and smirks. His hands are usually fists, rough and callused and tattooed. His hands are from the south side. Busted and bruised and marked up. No one makes it out of the south side without some scars. He just doesn’t know where Ian’s hiding his.

Eventually Mickey gets up from the floor and goes to the closet, grabbing a sheet and draping it over Ian. He’s going to wake up sore as fuck, but it’s really his own damn fault. Mickey sits on the back of the couch and looks down at Ian. He’s pretty sure he could sit there all night and look at him. Which means it’s way past time to go to bed. 

The problem with going to bed is the same as with going along with Ian’s plan. Ian’s in the next room. Ian is pretty much Mickey’s straight-up fantasy. Big hands to span Mickey’s hips, to wrap around his dick, to hold him still and make him take whatever. Everything. Hot mouth and hot breath and a sense of humor. If Mickey still had an ounce of self-preservation, he’d go out into the living room, shake Ian awake, and kick his ass out. Thanks but no thanks. 

He thinks he used all his self-preservation up when he was younger, when he had to fight all the time to keep everything in. That would explain why he’s actually considering this. The money doesn’t hurt. Wouldn’t hurt. It would be nice not to have to work so hard, even though he knows he’d never stop. It would be nice to not have to worry. Not that he’ll ever stop that either. 

Living with Ian. Pretending to be with Ian. Being in public with him. Touching him. Kissing him? Being his partner. It’s all beyond his comprehension. What he does comprehend is that at some point Ian won’t need the charade anymore, and it won’t matter what Mickey needs. He sits up in bed rests his arms on his knees, staring out his doorway into the living room. 

Mickey is somewhere between a fucking idiot and a glutton for punishment. He sighs and gets out of bed, padding into the living room barefooted. He pokes Ian in the arm then, when that doesn’t do anything, jabs him in the side. 

“Ow! What! Fuck!” Ian sits up, slightly dazed and obviously confused. “Shit.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” He blinks and manages to focus on Mickey. “Oh. Oh. _Oh_. Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you want to still.”

“Yeah. Absolutely. I mean, if you’re sure.”

“You want me to change my mind?” Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Because I’ve got to tell you, questioning me saying yes to your proposal is sounding a little bit like you pulling out.” He holds up a finger. “And don’t say a fucking word.” He sits down next to Ian and stares at the tattoos on the back of his fingers. “So what happens now?”

“You have a tux?”

“You think I have a fucking tux?” Mickey scoffs. “My invitation to the fucking Oscars keeps getting lost in the mail, so I haven’t had a reason to buy one.”

“Well, first thing we do is get you a tux. You’re going to need it tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” Mickey’s voice shifts, going up an octave. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. There’s a premiere. Good a time as any to premiere you. So you’ll need a tux, or at least a nice suit. Nice suit, actually, that’d be better for you.” Ian reaches out and touches Mickey’s jaw. “Shave too.”

“I can shave my own damn self, thank you.” Mickey pulls away from Ian’s touch. Maybe he does have some self-preservation instincts left. “So, what? We’re just going to tell people we’re engaged? They’ve never seen me before, and they’re going to buy that?”

“Told you. Childhood sweethearts. I was in Chicago not that long ago. You were visiting family.” Mickey scoffs and Ian touches Mickey’s jaw again. “We reconnected. Domino effect.”

“Or a car wreck.”

Ian grins and rubs his thumb over Mickey’s chin, pulling slightly so his lips part. “One more thing though.” He doesn’t give Mickey a chance to ask before he leans in and kisses him. 

Mickey’s never given any thought as to what it would be like to kiss Ian. Except when he watched Ian in those stupid chick flicks that Mandy loves where Ian ends up with the stupid leading lady, kissing her in the rain or some other stupid shit. Or tonight when Ian ate his Thai food. Or talked. 

Okay, to be fair, Mickey has never given any thought to Ian kissing _him_. 

Which he’s actually fine with, because he doesn’t think his imagination could be nearly as good as the real thing. Ian’s mouth is deliberate and talented, his tongue exploring Mickey’s like he expects there to be a quiz. Mickey closes his eyes and surrenders, letting Ian take over, taste and bite and suck on his lips and tongue, trace the ridge of his teeth and tickle the roof of his mouth. Mickey clenches his hands into fists to keep them in his lap, and by the time Ian finally pulls back, Mickey can feel the half-moon imprints of his nails in his palm.

Ian licks his lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Well. At least we know we’re...compatible.”

“Yeah?’ Mickey’s voice is hoarse and he has to clear his throat to keep talking. “Maybe I was just tolerating your sloppy kiss. Like a slobbery-ass boxer all drooling on my face.”

“Well, it’ll play well on screen. You must be a better actor than you think.” Ian yawns and rolls his shoulders forward until they pop. “Your couch is uncomfortable as fuck.”

“That’s because you’re a fucking giant.” Mickey rubs his eye with his fist. “Go take the bed. I actually fit on the couch at least.”

“I’m not going to kick you out of your bed.”

Mickey gives Ian a hard look. “This isn’t one of your stupid movies. There’s no way you’re innocently suggesting that we share the bed so we end up fucking and realize in the morning that we’ve ruined our friendship or whatever, got it?”

“Aw. You’ve seen my movies?”

“I saw ‘Burst of Fire’ because the other guy was hot.”

“Sounds like you saw a few of my other films too. The ones with a lot less explosions.”

Mickey scoffs. “Dude, I have a sister who thinks every guy she meets is _the one_. I don’t need to watch your movies. I have to live your movies. Only, like, the post-apocalyptic versions.” He grabs the sheet and wraps it around him. “Now go to bed. I’m not going to have the press yelling at me that I made you miss your beauty sleep, so now People has to pick someone else to be the hottest man alive.”

“Actually, I didn’t win. I’m, like, the third hottest man alive. It’s really a ball-buster. To know there are two people in the universe hotter than me.” Ian shakes his head, his lip curled out in an exaggerated pout. “I need my sexy fiance to comfort me in my grief.”

“You’re such a tool.” Mickey tries not to laugh and fails. He has a feeling he’s going to be failing a _lot_ when it comes to Ian. “Go to bed.”

Ian stands up and stretches, rising up on his toes so he’s even taller. His shirt rises up and the hips of his jeans slide down and Mickey closes his eyes and looks away from the pale skin, the copper freckles on the curve of Ian’s hipbone. 

“See you in the morning.” Ian yawns and walks down the hall to Mickey’s bedroom. He strips off his shirt and jeans without closing the door, climbing into the bed in nothing but his boxers. Mickey stifles his groan, burying it in one of the throw pillows on the couch. 

He is so dead.

**

Ian’s manager picks them up in the morning. He drops Ian off at his place then looks Mickey over. “Have you ever worn a suit?”

“At a funeral.” He frowns. “Well, it was sort of a suit. Jeans and a suit jacket. I borrowed it from the morgue guy.”

The manager – and at some point Mickey should probably ask him what his name is - rolls his eyes. “Remind me to share this with Ian when this all blows up in his face. Not that I’ll need reminding. I’m never forgetting this conversation. No matter how hard I try.”

“What’s your deal, dude?” Mickey shifts in his seat so he can look at him. “I mean, you just do what you’re told for your 10 percent?”

“You do what you’re told for your salary, right?” He glances at Mickey then back at the road. “Ian’s my boss. He pays me to think and I do. He doesn’t always agree with me, but he trusts me to do what’s best for his career. Except not always. Case in point.”

“Why is he doing this? He’s a fucking star. He can use the press as a platform without having to go through this charade.”

“Trust me, if I knew, I’d put a stop to it. He’s determined that this is the course of action he wants to follow. I don’t know why. I don’t even pretend to know why.”

Mickey rubs his lower lip between his thumb and his finger. “He was seeing someone else?”

“Yeah. Jason.” He frowns and Mickey’s eyebrow shoots up.

“And?”

“And I was very, very surprised that Ian suggested you for this charade.”

“Right.” Mickey slumps back against his seat. “Dude, what’s your name?”

“Kevin.”

“Cool.” He keeps playing with his lower lip, frowning out at LA as it rolls past. “So he’s in love with this guy, huh? And...what? He dumped him?”

“I don’t know.”

Mickey ignores the sharp sting in his chest and nods. “So at some point, some Hollywood-level god is going to come after me and try to beat the shit out of me for stealing his boyfriend.”

“Not if they’re broken up.”

“Okay, Kevin? You seem like a decent dude, but you know fuck all about jealousy. And this Jason dude can’t even claim I’m a rebound, because Ian’s know me forever.” He makes air quotes around the last three words. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sure that’s not Ian’s intention.”

“And I’m pretty damn sure it is.” Mickey sighs. “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it. Not the first time, won’t be the last. I’m actually a trained professional at being someone’s decoy. Like you said, he’s looking for a beard. And here I am.”

“That’s not the kind of guy Ian is.”

“He asked you to hire me to be his fiance. What kind of guy would you say he is then?”

Kevin doesn’t say anything else. They drive in silence to some swanky part of town and just being there makes Mickey’s skin itch. He pulls into a garage that requires some sort of ID and gets out, giving the keys to a valet. Mickey climbs out as well, feeling completely out of place. 

“You didn’t tell me I’d need to wear a suit to buy a suit.”

“It’s fine.”

“I feel like I should be begging for hand-outs.”

“Just come on.” He leads the way into an elevator that requires a key and Mickey doesn’t even feel it start to move before the doors are opening again. There are four men in suits waiting for them and it’s like he’s about to walk into Stepford. “Marco. This is Mickey. He needs a suit for tonight.”

“Of course.” Marco speaks in heavily accented English, and he doesn’t hesitate to walk around Mickey, eyeing him critically. “Hmm. Should not be a problem. Come.”

Mickey watches Marco walk off, not following until Kevin jerks his head. Marco leads Mickey to a dressing room and nods at the carpeted block in the center of the room. 

“Undress. I am thinking a 28 inseam, yes?”

“I don’t even know what the fuck an inseam is, dude.” Mickey shifts uncomfortably. “Just give me something to try on and then...I don’t know. Fucking safety pin it.”

Marco raises an eyebrow. “Undress. I’ll be right back.”

Mickey chews on the inside of his lip for a few minutes before finally doing as he’s told. He can hear Marco and Kevin outside talking about color and fabric and what Ian’s wearing. He feels ridiculous standing there in his underwear. He doesn’t know what he was thinking agreeing to this. Actually he does know. He wasn’t just thinking about the center. He was thinking with his dick and his imagination and some stupid misplaced sense of romance. God, he’s a fucking idiot.

He gets off the block and grabs his phone, texting Mandy. _‘how do you think I get out of this?’_

There’s a long delay and Mickey’s got his eye on the curtain to the dressing room, just in case he hears Marco coming back, like he’s going to get reprimanded for being on his phone and not standing still on the box. 

_‘get out of what?’_

_‘agreeing to do this stupid fucking thing’_

_‘why would you want to do that? Ian fucking gallagher mick’_

_‘who is still in love with his ex’_

_‘50 grand’_

_‘right’_

_‘suck it up. not like u have anything 2 lose. be good 4 business besides have 2 have heart 2 get it broken’_

_‘fuck u’_

He tosses the phone back on his pile of clothes and sits on the block. He’s giving this whole bullshit scenario five more minutes and then he’s leaving. He’s counting down the last thirty seconds when Marco walks in with his arms full of black fabric. Mickey eyes it all suspiciously.

“Up. Up.” Marco surveys Mickey again and digs through the pile. “This pair.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and tugs the slacks on. They’re too tight on his thighs and the fabric bunches at his ass. “Um, no fucking way.”

“No, you are right. Off.” They go through three more pair of slacks before Mickey finds the right ones. He turns and looks at himself in the mirror, frowning slightly at his stomach, but pleased with how they make his ass look. 

“Huh.”

“We will tailor them and you’ll see. Even better.” He gives Mickey an admiring glance. “Cream colored shirt, I think. Stay.”

“I’m not a fucking dog, asshole,” Mickey mutters under his breath. He’s pretty sure Marco hears him judging from the laugh that floats back into the dressing room.

Marco comes back in with several shirts ranging from bright white to nearly brown. Mickey looks at them all dubiously, especially when one of the other guys follows him in with an armful of jackets. 

“I ain’t wearing a tie.”

“You are.” Marco doesn’t leave room for argument. “When we are done with you, you will be a whole new person.”

“I kind of like the person I am right now.”

Marco rolls his eyes, which causes Mickey to smirk. “Fine. You will _look_ like a whole new person. From the neck down. The rest of you isn’t so bad.”

Mickey’s eyebrows both shoot up. “Dude, are you flirting with me?”

“I am a professional.” Marco sounds completely affronted, but he can’t seem to help the curve of his mouth. “I never flirt with clients.” He holds a couple of shirts up to Mickey, shaking his head at one after the other. “Jeffrey. He’s too pale for these. Get the blue.”

The other clerk disappears for a few minutes while Mickey shifts from foot to foot, embarrassed and half-naked. “I’m taken.”

“Mm. Yes. Mr. Evans informed us of your engagement.” He gets down on his knees and starts pulling pins from the cushion on his wrist. Mickey does his best not to look down, because it’s been a _long_ time and Ian kissed him last night and Marco is pretty fucking hot and he hasn’t had to hide, so ignoring Marco being on his knees in front of him is a whole lot of fucking distraction. “Mr. Gallagher is a good customer. An...interesting challenge to fit in certain ways.” 

Mickey looks down and Marco glances at his dick. “O-oh.”

Marco smirks as Jeffrey comes back in with a wide range of blue shirts. Marco straightens and hands the pincushion to Jeffrey then starts sorting through blue shirts. He picks out a dark blue one then a slightly lighter one. “Try this one.”

Mickey shrugs the shirt on and Marco buttons it up. He swallows hard. Apparently being rich also means getting propositioned by people when you least expect it. “You dress all of Mr. Gallagher’s...friends?”

Marco focuses on the top button, not looking at Mickey. “A few.”

“Cool. Cool.” Mickey glances in the mirror and his eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“Wait until it’s tailored.” Marco smiles. “I think we’ll do without the jacket. Keep you somewhat casual. It suits you. No pun intended.” 

He and Jeffrey both get to work, pinning and measuring and telling Mickey what to do and how to turn. He stops resisting when Marco mentions manhandling him into position and Mickey feels the blush shoot up his skin. He jumps when Jeffrey adjusts his junk. “Hey!”

“You want it to lie correctly.”

“It does just fine on its own. Christ.”

“Not in a suit. Trust me.” He gets to his feet and looks Mickey over. “Okay, undress and let us get to work.”

“Can I put my real clothes on?”

Marco nods. “Let us know if you need help adjusting anything in them.”

“Jesus.” Mickey realizes it’s stupid to wait for them to leave before he undresses, but he stares at them pointedly until they do. He strips the clothes off carefully, not wanting to tear anything or jab something important with pins. He puts on his jeans and t-shirt and goes back out into the main showroom. Kevin’s talking to someone and Mickey sits in one of the leather seats scattered around the room. This is a whole new fucking world.

He pulls out his phone and takes care of some work emails, arranging a few jobs and sending a few invoices. He doesn’t know shit about Ian’s world, but he knows his, and it doesn’t stay where it is without him working his ass off. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t do a little research as well, trying to find out more about Jason, whoever he is. Searches don’t turn anything up, so he and Ian must have been discreet. Asshole’s probably married or in the closet or something.

“Jesus, Milkovich, get a fucking grip,” he mutters to himself. He pulls up a game on his phone to put his brain on hold, not thinking about Ian or Jason or anything. Just blowing shit up. Kevin finally comes over and sits near him. 

“Should be finished in about ten minutes, then I’ll get you to work.”

“Cool.” Mickey puts his phone away. “So Ian picking me up at my place tonight or what?”

“We’ll send the limo around at about six. Please be ready.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pick me up at work if it’s that early. Don’t close up shop until 5:30.” 

“Mickey...”

“Don’t worry.” Mickey looks at him, daring him to challenge him. “I’ll be ready.”

“Fine.” Kevin sighs, glancing over at the counter where Marco is standing, wrapping everything up in tissue paper. “Let me get this, and we’ll go.”

“Is this coming out of my fee?”

“We’ll chalk it up to business expenses.” Kevin heads over to the counter and Mickey gets up. He can feel Marco’s eyes on him, and he knows he’s still blushing. Who knows? Maybe after this farce with Ian he can wait outside like some sort of stalker and catch him, see if he wants to go out. The thought makes Mickey frown. Not going out with Marco so much as the thought of whatever this is with Ian being over. He knows it’ll end – there’s no way it won’t – but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He could get used to luxury, but he’s pretty sure luxury will _never_ get used to him.

**

Mickey tugs at his tie and Mandy slaps his hands away, straightening it again. “Stop it. You’ll mess it up.”

“I need to breathe.”

“You can breathe fine.” She steps back then adjusts the knot. “Jesus. Who knew you’d clean up so well. I still don’t think anyone’s going to buy the fact that Ian’s dating you-”

“Engaged to me.”

“That’s even weirder.” She gives him one of the looks that makes him nervous, the one that reminds him how well she knows him. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“You mean agree to act as some famous actor’s fiance?”

“Like fall in love.”

“Not gonna happen. Don’t believe in it.”

She raises an eyebrow, skepticism all over her face. “You are so full of shit.”

“Fuck off. I am not. Love doesn’t exist. It’s all bullshit to sell fucking cards and flowers and shit. People like to fuck. People like to hang out. That’s all.”

“Full of shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.”

Mickey flips her off. She laughs at him, the sound cutting off at the knock on the door. She grins and rushes over to it, unlocking it and bowing at Ian as he walks in. 

“Wow.”

Mickey would agree with Mandy if he could actually speak. He’s seen Ian in a tux. Ian goes to award shows. Ian does things like charity events and gets his picture in People magazine. Ian is built to wear nice stuff, made for it. But Ian’s standing ten feet from him, and Ian’s fucking _gorgeous_. He’s unreal.

Ian smiles slowly, looking Mickey over. “Wow.”

Mandy looks between them and rolls her eyes. “Okay, well, I’m going to strip naked and do the cha-cha.” Neither of them responds, too busy staring at each other. “Then I’m going to perform sex acts with the stapler.”

“Not my stapler.” Mickey still hasn’t looked away, but no one’s fucking with his office supplies. Figuratively or literally. “You look...nice.”

“You too.” Ian’s eyes roam up and down several times before he meets Mickey’s gaze. “You ready?”

“I guess, yeah. As I’ll ever be.”

“It won’t be bad after the carpet. Free drinks and food. And hopefully they’ll direct most of the questions to me. Kevin leaked a little bit that I’d be bringing someone special with me, so the press will be all ready with questions, but I’ll make it clear that you’re not used to the limelight.” 

“Can I change my mind about this?”

Ian nods, his eyes worried, but he manages a teasing smile. “Sure, but you owe me for the suit.”

“Shit there weren’t any price tags, so I know I can’t afford it. Better go, I guess.” He smiles at Ian, though it’s more of a smirk. “Lead me into the lion’s den.”

“You have no idea how apropos that statement is.” Ian leads the way out, waiting in the hall while Mickey locks the door. “You really do look fucking amazing.”

“Gotta look good on your arm.”

“Better than good.”

There’s an Uber idling outside the apartment building. They climb inside and Mickey frowns at his hands as he fastens his seat belt. “You want me to cover these?”

“What?”

He holds his hands out, the crude tattoos dark against his pale skin. “Why would I want that?”

“Not exactly Hollywood.”

“I don’t want you to be Hollywood. I want you to be you, be who you really are. South side born and bred.”

“They’re going to have a field day with my language.”

“Well, as long as you don’t talk about our sex life, at least not too graphically, it’s not anything they haven’t heard before.”

“Yeah, because talking about my big gay sex life is something I do.” Mickey snorts. “My dad would have killed me as many ways as humanly possible if he’d known. Fucking resurrected me to kill me again. Him killing someone else is the only thing that kept me from getting killed.”

“I was lucky. My family was cool about it, and I didn’t get any hassle at school since Mandy was the only one who knew and she made an excellent beard.”

“The press gonna freak out when they hear that you dated my sister?”

Ian’s grin lights up the car. “How do you think we met and fell in love?”

“Right. Thank fuck for Mandy.”

“Oh, man.” It takes Ian a minute or two to stop laughing. “The press are going to _love_ her. Matchmaker to the stars.”

“Shit, don’t call her that. She’ll take it up as a new career and I’ll never get her to do anything around the office.” Mickey crosses his arms over his chest and slumps back against the seat with an exaggerated pout. “It’s hard enough to get her to do anything now.”

“The damage’ll be done after tonight.” Ian reaches out and curves his fingers around Mickey’s forearm, pulling it away from his chest. He looks at Mickey’s hand for a moment before threading their fingers together. “You ready?”

Mickey looks out the windshield at the throng of spectators and press, the sharp, white flashes of cameras. “No. But let’s go.” They climb out of the car to the yells of reporters and paparazzi. Mickey squints against the brightness. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Ian laughs softly like Mickey said something funny, or maybe he just said what Ian is thinking. Ian keeps his hand in the small of Mickey’s back, hot through the fabric. Question after question gets fired at them, and Ian’s obviously a pro, fielding them all, making people laugh. He steers Mickey in the direction of the reporter he’s talking to, telling the lie of their story easily. Mickey’s impressed even though he knows Ian’s a good actor.

“What about you, Mickey? How does it feel to know men and women both lust after your fiance?”

“I don’t blame them.” He laughs and looks Ian over. “I mean, you’ve seen him. Plus he’s one of the most amazing guys I’ve ever met. But, as much as they lust over him, they’re out of luck. I know who Ian wants.”

Ian looks at Mickey with something dark in his eyes. Mickey smiles at him, not sure what Ian’s look means. He can’t ask, but Ian leans in, brushing his lips against Mickey. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mickey bumps his hip against Ian’s, knowing that his face is probably bright red. “We just broke a million hearts. Or however many twitter followers you have.”

Ian laughs and says goodbye to the reporter, guiding Mickey further up the carpet. “You were amazing.”

“Damn straight. Or, well, damn right. No straight around here.”

Ian stifles this laugh, and it comes out as more of a cough. “Careful. Shit. I might actually have to keep you around.”

“Oh, you’re totally stuck with me. I’m clinging to you like a fucking lemur.”

They come to another reporter and Ian smiles again, though this one isn’t the same he’s given Mickey. Or the one he’s given everyone else they’ve come across tonight. “Joe.”

“Ian.” The reporter looks at him with a smirk, and even if Ian’s attitude hadn’t’ changed, Mickey wouldn’t like him. “Who’s this?”

“My fiance. Mickey.”

“Really?” Joe’s voice is laced with disbelief. “Since when?”

“Why?” Mickey interjects before Ian can answer. His eyebrow lifts, cocked mockingly. “Jealous?”

“No. Just surprised.”

“Mickey’s not a big fan of the limelight.”

Mickey flexes his fingers, watching Joe’s eyes dart down to them like he expected. “I’ve known him since he was a kid in Chicago. Played little league together. He dated my sister as a cover for us to be together. There’s been something between us for a long time. Took him a while to convince me to walk the carpet with him, but I figured if we were going to be walking down the aisle, we might as well get in a little practice.” He takes Ian’s hand and squeezes, watching Joe’s eyes drop down again. “Nice meeting you.”

Joe’s smirk matches Mickey’s. “Mutual.”

Ian stares at Mickey as they walk off. “Seriously. I think I’m in love.”

“Why, because I told that asswipe off?”

“I don’t get to do that anymore. At least not publicly.”

“And that’s why you’ve got south side trash in your life.”

Ian nods, and Mickey’s pretty sure no one else tonight has been treated to the smile Ian gives him. “Feels like home.”

**

Mickey lets Ian handle what’s left of the press, wondering instead what the actual fuck he’s doing. People _everywhere_ are going to think he and Ian are together. And they’re going to have a grand old time saying ‘I told you so’ when Ian ends the charade.

Halfway through the movie – arty bullshit that makes Mickey want to stab his eyes out – he slips out of the row and goes to the bathroom. The bathroom was Mickey’s savior when he was younger, watching for guys who looked over, looked too long. Most of his sex life happened in juvie, and there Mickey did the fucking, but in the bathrooms he could find someone to fuck him. He hasn’t looked or noticed in ages, but it’s clear the guy next to him is checking him out.

“Can I help you?”

“No.”

“Keep watching _your_ aim and not mine then.” Mickey finishes, shaking off and flicking the end of his dick. The guy keeps looking at him, though much more discreetly. Mickey’s not sure if it’s a pick up though, because it feels off. He washes his hands and looks directly at the guy, eyebrow raised sharply. “Sorry. I’m taken.”

“I know. Ian Gallagher’s fiance. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Gotta go. Don’t want him to get lonely.” Mickey leaves the bathroom and looks around. There’s nowhere to smoke, so he sighs and goes back inside the theater. He leans in and whispers in Ian’s ear. “This movie’s shit. How many Oscars do you think it’ll win?”

Ian bites his lip, but the hint of a laugh gets out. It’s caught between him and Mickey, just like Ian’s words. “We making a bet? Awards or nominations?”

“Let’s make it interesting and do both.” 

Ian’s voice is soft, fanning against Mickey’s skin. “Deal.”

Mickey settles back in his seat and closes his eyes. Ian takes his hand and rubs his thumb over Mickey’s knuckles. It’s distracting as fuck, but Mickey knows the press is still lurking, other people are watching them curiously. Mickey lifts their joined hands and kisses Ian’s wrist. Ian catches his breath, so Mickey flicks his tongue against his pulse. He’s not sure why he’s doing it other than that he can while this farce is going on, knowing that Ian is completely out of his reach in the real world. This is a chance to live out some piece of his ridiculous fantasy.

The movie finally ends and Ian stays seated for a while, letting other people filter out. When he finally gets up, he tugs Mickey with him. “Shouldn’t run into any more press tonight, but are you okay going back to my place in case we’re followed?”

“Sure. That’s fine.” They walk into the lobby and the guy Mickey had seen in the bathroom is standing not far from the doors. He steps up closer to them. 

“Ian.”

Mickey’s stomach sinks at the look on Ian’s face. “Jason.”

“How are you?”

“Good. Really good. H-how are you?”

“Been better.” His eyes rake over Ian. “You look good.”

“Thanks. You too.” Mickey watches Ian swallow. His gaze settles on Jason’s mouth for a moment, then darts away. Mickey bites the inside of his lower lip. Jason’s not going to be a problem, his ass. The look in Ian’s eyes makes that more than clear. “Well. I should...our car is waiting.”

“Right. Nice to meet you...uh...”

“Oh!” Ian flushes. “This...this is...um.”

“Mickey.” He deliberately doesn’t hold out his hand. “You’ll forgive me for not shaking hands. I didn’t see you wash yours.”

Jason’s smile tightens. “It was good to see you, Ian.”

“Yeah. You too.” Ian clears his throat and glances to the door. “Our, um, car.”

Jason nods and steps back. Mickey places his hand on Ian’s back and gives him a slight push toward the door. Ian’s eyes dart back to him and he reddens further. He heads out the door and straight to the car, climbing in quickly. Mickey follows him at a slower pace, finally shutting the door. He sits down and snaps his seat belt, exhaling slowly. “So, he’s not going to be a problem.” Mickey tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but Ian’s slight flinch lets him know he failed. “Why am I even here? It’s obvious you’re in love with him.”

Mickey doesn’t analyze the tightness in his chest. He knew he was going to be the laughingstock at the end of this. He doesn’t have a stake in this really. He’s only doing this for the money for the center, but he thinks Ian will give him that anyway. Hell, Mickey probably didn’t even need this charade for that. He certainly doesn’t have a single fucking emotion invested in this.

“No.”

“I’ve got eyes, and I’m not fucking stupid.” He shakes his head and laughs at himself. “Don’t worry. I’m more than happy to go along with this and take your money. I’m not going to out you to the press. I don’t need to humiliate myself.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I think this is a business arrangement.” Mickey leans back against the seat, arms crossed over his chest. “We’re not lovers, so I don’t give a shit if you’re in love with someone else. Hell, you and I? We’re not even friends.”

“I’d like us to be friends.”

“You don’t need a friend. You do your movie, pay me. I’ll open my first center and disappear. Go off the grid or simply tell them I wasn’t cut out for your world, and you left mine behind years ago. And we’ll live happily ever after away from each other.” He swallows before his voice does something stupid like break or hitch, because there’s no reason for it.

“Mickey...”

“Why not him? That’s what I don’t get. He married? Not out?”

“He’s not...he’s not anything.”

“Okay, well, he looks at you like he’s something And his pissing contest in the bathroom...”

“What?”

“It wasn’t literally a pissing contest.”

Ian chokes on a laugh. “Good.”

“Look, I don’t mind doing this, but I need you to be honest with me so I don’t fuck it up.”

“Can we...can we wait to talk about this until we’re at my place?” Ian glances at the driver, realizing, probably too late that he can hear them. Ian undoes his seat belt and leans over, taking Mickey’s chin in his hand and turning his head so that their lips are almost against each others. “Don’t be jealous, okay? I’m with you. Forever.” He cants his head toward the driver and Mickey smiles against Ian’s mouth before brushing their lips together.

“Sorry. Bad enough I have to fight with all your adoring fans. Exes make me...”

“Don’t.” Ian nuzzles Mickey’s mouth. “No one but you, Mick.”

Mickey looks at Ian through half-closed eyes and Ian’s drop down to Mickey’s mouth. Mickey swallows hard, caught up in copper lashes. “Wait till we get home, Gallagher.” His voice holds more promise than Mickey intends, sounds like a lover promising something besides a talk. Ian’s breath hitches and Mickey tries to shift under him so Ian can’t feel Mickey’s cock swell. “And put your seat belt back on. I don’t need people blaming me and my inability to keep my hands off you for your death.”

“I think they’d blame the driver.” Ian raises his voice. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he throws back over his shoulder. “And I’ve seen and heard much worse.”

“No, Ian.” Mickey smiles at him and shoves him lightly back to his side of the car. “That wasn’t a challenge.” Mickey hates how easy this is. He’s not the actor here. It shouldn’t be this fucking easy to flirt with Ian, to pretend to be in love. But Ian’s a south side kid, even when they were on the red carpet and in the middle of all that chaos. Mickey can see it. 

In a lot of ways, Mickey’s grateful as hell he never paid attention to Ian when he dated Mandy. Because Ian isn’t the only one who would have been in love, which for Mickey would mean being dead.

They get to Ian’s house and it’s not huge, but it’s bigger than Mickey will ever be able to afford. The Uber stops and Ian thanks the driver, sliding out and waiting for Mickey to follow. Mickey does his best not to gawk, since he supposedly lives here, but once they’re inside, he looks around in awe. The entryway has a gray stone floor, and the walls are dark green, strategically placed lighting keeping it from being too dark. “Nice.”

“The people I bought it from hired an interior decorator. I take no credit. You want a drink?”

Mickey can see Ian’s nervousness, the way his hand taps against his thigh in a constant rhythm. “Depends. You got any real booze?”

“I hope by that you don’t mean Old Style, because that shit’s nasty.”

“I don’t want anything that’s made by people who think I give a shit how much fucking wheat it has in it or how small the batches were.”

“I think I have something.” Ian disappears down a hallway and Mickey follows, looking around as he goes. He finally finds the kitchen and Ian, whistling low. “Shit. You some sort of gourmet chef or something?”

“No.” Ian sighs and slides a beer across the counter to Mickey before going around to sit on one of the stools. Mickey sits next to him and opens his beer. Waiting. “I’m not in love with him.”

Mickey snorts and takes a drink, not looking at Ian. His voice is laced with complete disbelief. “Really.”

“Really.” Ian frowns at his reflection in the mirror. “I was. I thought I was.”

“And you were wrong?”

“He’s...”

“Look, if you’re in love with him, that’s cool. I just need to know.”

“I’m not. Just...did you ever have someone who knew you too well? Every button to push? All the right and wrong words to say?”

“Isn’t that what being in love is?”

“Cynical.” Ian looks away from the mirror, but not at Mickey. “Sometimes it’s not love.” Ian sighs and slides off the stool, going over to the cabinet above the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of whiskey. “Drink?”

“Sure.” Mickey shrugs and chugs down the rest of his beer. “You know, I’ve always hated that fucking cabinet. No fucking use at all. You put shit you don’t want up there. Which means you should just get rid of it.”

“Or it means you’re short.” Ian manages a smile that turns into something else as he sets the bottle down. He goes to another cabinet to get two glasses. His hands shake slightly and Mickey raises an eyebrow. He gets off his stool and walks over, taking the glasses from Ian. He brings them back to the island and pours.

“Sit.”

Ian opens his mouth to protest, but something in Mickey’s expression must stop him, because he sits down and keeps his mouth closed. Mickey pushes the glass over to him. “Drink first. Then talk.” Ian nods and takes a drink, emptying the glass. He avoids Mickey’s gaze and fiddles with the glass. “Is this some sort of Svengali thing? Is he all...puppetmaster?”

“No. Not...” Ian blows out a breath and reaches for the bottle. He pours another healthy shot, but he just takes a sip rather than swallowing it all at once. “I met him when I first moved out here. I’d just...well, bad break up in Chicago. Really bad. And Jason was gorgeous and charming and...I suppose I... No. I did fall in love with him.”

Mickey sips his own drink, letting it burn down his throat. It’s good booze, better than Mickey buys even, and hard liquor is one of the things that Mickey’s _definitely_ refined his taste for since he’s moved to L.A. “What changed?”

“It took a while to realize, but the charm was all on the surface. It lasted...until he knew me. Knew my problems, all the things wrong with me. And then everything got sharp. Barbed. Mean.” He looks at Mickey finally and there’s a self-deprecating smirk on his face. “Sounds stupid, right? He was mean to me.”

“Abusive.” Mickey knows without Ian saying it. Mickey knows all the code words. Knows too well. He wonders if Ian does. “That kind of mean?”

“I don’t know if it’s that. Digging, you know? He knew where every scab was, and he’d rip it off like it was nothing, pour salt in the wounds. Mock me. It wasn’t...I mean, it wasn’t like my dad was. Anger and hatred and disinterest, which doesn’t even make sense, but that’s how it felt. Like he didn’t even care if he was hurting me. It was just what he did. But with Jason it wasn’t like that.”

“Maybe not, but it’s still abuse.” Mickey takes a bigger drink. “How long?”

“Five years?”

“Jesus. Why’d you stick around?”

“I loved him. And, well, my knowledge of relationships, my experience with them isn’t great.”

“Well, you’re gay, and you did date my sister.”

“Mandy was one of the best relationships I had.” Mickey raises his eyebrows and Ian blushes. “It was more of a best friend thing, but it was good.”

“Have you told anyone? What he was like?”

“My brother. But...his experience with relationships is-” Ian waves a hand around. “My family doesn’t have a great history in the love department. And Lip is more like Jason. Not abusive...well, maybe. But more self-absorbed, looking out for himself. Narcissistic.”

Mickey nods. “I know the type.” They sit in silence for a few moments. Ian looks like he’s remember something he doesn’t want to, and it feels intrusive to watch, so Mickey glances down at his glass. “How’d you end it?”

Ian focuses on Mickey, surprised. “What makes you think I ended it?”

“If he had done it, he would have acted differently tonight. Possessive, not that fake politeness.” Mickey glances up and gets caught in Ian’s look. “He sized me up to see what kind of competition I was.”

“Wouldn’t he do that no matter what?”

“Maybe.” Mickey shrugs. “I just think if he’d ended it, he would think I didn’t matter. He’d just call and tell you to dump me, tell you to come back to reestablish control.”

Ian tilts his head, squinting his eyes as he looks at him. “Am I jumping from the frying pan into the fire here?”

“The fact that you’re asking that? That tells you fuck no. You know some of what my dad was like. ‘I only do this because you deserve it, because I’m the only one who gives enough of a fuck to teach you how to be a man, what the fuck did I do to deserve a fucking useless piece of shit like you’. It’s all the same in the long run. Physical or emotional. Manipulation and intimidation.” Mickey finishes his drink and pours himself more.

“I did.” Ian’s frowning, but his eyes don’t look as dark. “I ended it. I just...one day I just walked out. Changed my number, my address, my car. Got him banned from my sets. I couldn’t tell anyone why, so I was suddenly a diva. It took a year or two to live that down, but how was I supposed to say that the up-and-coming action star was afraid of his boyfriend?”

“I looked. I didn’t see anything about you dating a Jason.”

“He’s not in the business. And Joe, the reporter you told off? He’s Jason’s brother. And their very rich parents don’t know Jason’s gay. So he helped us keep it quiet, which is why he hasn’t come after me in print.”

“I’d tell you that you sure know how to pick ‘em,. But you picked me, so...”

Ian smiles and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just...”

Mickey shrugs. “I get it. It was different, but I’ve been there. And when you have someone in your past that used shit against you, you don’t want to give ammunition to someone else.”

“I was honest with him, you know? I thought we were going to be together forever. That he was the one.”

“No such thing,” Mickey says, but he nods and takes another drink. He chews on his lower lip for a moment. “Are you still in love with him? Someone being shitty to you doesn’t always change your feelings. And walking away doesn’t mean you’re done living with it.”

Ian sighs and stares down into the amber liquid in his glass. “I don’t know? I don’t know how I feel. How much of it is what I feel and how much of it is what he makes me feel, if that makes sense?”

“Think so.” Mickey leans his hip against the counter. “You been with anyone since him?”

“Not really. A few closeted guys out here. A couple of one-night stands when I was back in Chicago. Dark clubs and dirty bathrooms.”

“Ah yes. I know those well.”

“How come you’re not seeing anyone?”

“Well, work and developing the centers have taken up most of my time. And I haven’t met anyone that I care to hang around longer than fucking them takes. Plus I suck at paying attention to other people, or enough attention. And I’m an asshole. According to Mandy anyway.”

Ian looks at Mickey as intently as he’d looked at his whiskey, his brow furrowed. “Why are you doing this? And don’t tell me it’s about the money. You sent a letter to my lawyer about a donation, so you had to be sure I’d make a donation.”

“I wasn’t sure.” Mickey shrugs. “You’re hot. And who doesn’t want to say they were fucking Ian Gallagher? My cache is sky-high now.”

“So this is to get laid?”

Mickey shakes his head and shrugs all at once. “I don’t really know why I’m doing it. I mean, why not? What have I got to lose? There are worse things than hanging around you, being engaged to you. Hell, even being dumped by you won’t be too bad, I think. I bet you’ll let me down easy.”

“Am I using you?”

“No. You’re not leading me on. You didn’t try to woo me or some shit. I walked into this with my eyes open.”

Ian slumps against the counter. “This wasn’t supposed to be complicated.”

“What’s complicated?” Mickey snorts. “You’re hot. I’m hot. We’re engaged. We have amazing, energetic sex that your ex can only dream of, and he can suck it. Whatever he said you are or did to make you feel bad, that’s his shit. Not yours. And we _all_ have shit. You’re a movie star. He’s a closeted emotional blackmailer. Fuck him and the horse he rode in on.”

“Whoa,” Ian chokes on a laugh as he draws it out like he’s talking to a horse. “Bestiality huh?”

“Fuck off.” Mickey flips Ian off and laughs as well. “He’s not worth it. What you’ve got up here?” Mickey reaches over and taps Ian on the side of the head. “That’s expensive real estate, Gallagher. Don’t let him live there rent free.”

“That’s actually pretty good advice.”

“Jesus, you don’t have to sound so surprised.” Mickey mock-glares at him. “I am a man of many a nugget of sage advice. I read fortune cookies.”

Ian laughs and then frowns, looking at Mickey seriously. “I want to kiss you.”

“And this conversation just took a serious left turn.” Mickey clears is throat. “Are we doing that part of this? The whole kissing and sex part? I thought that was just for show.”

Ian wrinkles his nose in thought. “Kissing you in your apartment wasn’t for show.”

“Okay. True.” Mickey licks his lips. “But I thought it was just prep for show. So I wouldn’t look like a deer in headlights the first time it happened in public.”

“You can just say you don’t want to kiss me.”

Mickey bites his lower lip. “I didn’t say that.”

“I know. That is, in fact, literally what I just said.” Ian ducks his head. “I did good, you know that? When I picked you.”

Mickey walks around the island and takes Ian’s chin in his hand in something of a reverse replay of their moment in the car. He meets Ian’s eyes and holds them, memorizing the mix of green and blue and yellow and brown. He very sternly tells himself not to think things like how the universe is in Ian’s eyes. Ian licks his lips as he stares back at Mickey. “You want to kiss me, Ian?”

Ian nods, swallowing hard like he can’t speak.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Y-you to tell me it’s a bad idea.”

“Should I?”

Ian shakes his head and surges up off the stool. The kiss is hard, hungry, lips smashed against teeth. Ian backs Mickey up against the double stove, the handle of the bottom one cutting into the small of his back. He barely feels it, too busy biting at Ian’s lower lip, sucking on it before diving into another kiss. This one is more of a kiss and less of an attack as one of Ian’s hands slips to Mickey’s hip and the other cups the back of his head. Mickey groans and arches toward Ian, wrapping a leg around the back of Ian’s to hold him close.

Not that Ian seems to need any encouragement. He works his knee between Mickey’s legs and Mickey starts riding Ian’s thigh without even thinking. He rubs his cock against the expensive fabric of Ian’s tux. The advantage of it is that Mickey’s higher now, so he breaks the kiss and scrapes his teeth over Ian’s neck. Ian shudders and grasps Mickey’s ass with both hands, hefting him higher on his thigh. Mickey groans against Ian’s throat at the friction between them. 

Ian’s hot and hard, body firm and dick pressing against Mickey’s thigh. “Fuck,” Mickey pants against the wet skin of Ian’s neck. There’s already a bruise blooming on his pale skin. “Fuck, you taste so good.” He bites the junction of Ian’s shoulder and thigh, sucking on the skin there. He moans at the back of his throat and Ian makes a noise that goes straight to Mickey’s dick, and he can’t help but grind down against Ian. “Fuck, yes.”

Ian squeezes Mickey’s ass then rubs it, urging him impossibly closer while there are still clothes between them. That thought hits Mickey like a freight train and he gasps. Ian takes advantage of Mickey’s open mouth, kissing him again, fucking his tongue into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey buries both hands in Ian’s hair and locks his ankles behind Ian’s back. He’s thrusting against Ian, Ian’s hands on his ass holding him so he can’t move back, not that he has any intention of it. He wants closer. He wants Ian inside him. 

Ian turns them and walks forward, settling Mickey on top of the island, he pulls back and starts unbuttoning Mickey’s shirt, licking down the skin as he bares it. Mickey grabs for the edges of the counter, needing something to hold on to. Ian’s looking at him through his lashes, and Mickey can’t breathe from the heat in his gaze. “Yeah?”

Mickey nods like a bobble head doll. “Yeah. Yeah. Fuck, yes.”

Ian scrapes his teeth over Mickey’s stomach then nips at the skin just below his navel. Mickey keeps his mouth closed tight to muffle the sound he makes, but it doesn’t seem to work if Ian’s low rumble of approval is any indication. Mickey can feel his cock straining against his pants and he wants them off him. Wants Ian on him.

Ian’s phone rings, sharp and shrill, and Mickey jumps at the sound. Ian groans and pulls back, sighing heavily. Mickey raises himself up on his elbows. “What the fuck?”

“Land line. That means it’s my manager.”

“ _So_.”

“Business.” Ian walks over to the phone and Mickey stares at him for a long moment as he starts talking then he hops off the counter.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He pulls his own phone out and dials, calling Mandy to come and pick him the fuck up. She doesn’t ask questions which he imagines is due to his tone, but he doesn’t really care one way or the other. He tells her where to find him and leaves the house, sitting on the front steps and lighting up a cigarette.

It’s a good half hour before Ian comes out of the house and sits next to him. Mickey ignores him, flicking the ashes of his second cigarette into the evening breeze, glad when a few of them freckle across Ian’s tux. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was business. Just like you and me.” Lights flash as a car turns into the driveway, and Mickey stands up, waving to Mandy. “Night.”

“Mickey.” Ian stands up and reaches out to touch his arm. Mickey doesn’t jerk away but it takes effort. “That’s not...” He blows out a breath and lets go. “I’ll email you my schedule and when I’d like us to go out together.”

“Fine with me. Ring the bell and I’ll come running like Pavlov’s dog.” He walks over to the car and climbs in, careful not to slam the door. He doesn’t look at Mandy and he shakes his head just slightly so she’ll know not to talk. “Just take me home, okay?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

**

Mandy avoids Mickey the next day, focusing on her work with just a few glances in his direction. Well, a few every five minutes. About a half hour before lunch he slams his hand on the desk. “What?”

“Nothing!”

“Bullshit, Mandy. C’mon.”

“I just want to know what happened is all. I saw the footage of you two on TV. You looked great. I mean, you totally looked like a couple.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not.” He rubs the back of his neck and tries to focus on the grant proposal that he’s working on. Even with Ian’s donation, the centers are going to be hard-pressed, especially the first year, so any money he can rake in isn’t extra so much as necessary. He fucking hates writing grant letters, because they’re all such bullshit. People will donate to what they want to donate to. They don’t give a shit about what Mickey and Mandy are offering or who they’re offering it to. The fact that it’s a bunch of punks from the wrong side of the tracks who have the audacity to be gay, lesbian, trans, bisexual, or anything that’s not in the binary, like they’ve got some fucking choice, means that Mickey’s fighting an uphill battle.

But it’s the same battle that saved his life, so he’s not going to give up. 

Mandy hums and flips through a few requests that she’s trying to fill from their roster. “What about Ian?”

Mickey frowns at his computer even more. He doesn’t mean to snap at Mandy, but he can’t quite help it. Right now Ian’s a sore subject. Blue-balls sore. “What about him?”

“Well, he’s making the 50k donation, right? Well, payment to you for services rendered.”

“I’m not a fucking whore,” Mickey snarls, whip-quick and sharp. 

“I know.” She’s placating, but he knows she means it too. “I know. But if he’s willing to make a donation that large...well, what if we put together a gala thing? That’d boost the visibility of his movie, give him some good press, and give us some seriously needed cash.” She glances at him and shrugs. “I mean, can’t hurt to ask him, right? You should get something out of this too.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll call his agent.” She holds up the card that had been on Mickey’s desk. “Get the ball rolling.”

“Mandy...”

“Trust me.” She holds up her finger to quiet him as she starts talking, and he holds up his middle finger in response. Her mouth twitches with a smile, but she’s all business on the phone.

Mickey gets up from his desk and goes to the small kitchen at the back of the office. His brain, thanks to an hour of angry and frustrated jerking off and a couple hours of fitful sleep, is pretty much mush, so he needs coffee. Strong coffee. Fucking _Herculean_ coffee.

“Hey, Mick! Pour me a cup.”

“Pour your own goddamn coffee, bitch.” He pours them both a cup, lacing his with two spoonfuls of sugar and Mandy’s with a dose of some fancy-ass flavored creamer that turns it a muddy brown and makes the kitchen smell like some fucking frou-frou coffee shop. “Smells like shit.”

He walks back out into the office and Ian is sitting on the edge of his desk. “Hey.”

“You know you don’t have to hand deliver emails, right?”

“I was in the area.”

“Bullshit you were.”

“I was!” At Mickey’s raised eyebrow he shrugs. “Okay, I wasn’t.”

Mickey smirks and walks past Ian to his desk, dropping Mandy’s coffee off on his way. He sits down, admiring the breadth of Ian’s back. “So?”

“So?” 

Innocence has been billed as one of Ian’s strong suits when it comes to acting, but in real life it’s bullshit. “Why are you here?”

“I thought we could do lunch.”

“Except I’m busy running a business.” Mickey says the last word pointedly. “Afraid I don’t get to just take off whenever I want.”

“What about at lunch time?” Ian’s looking at Mickey over his shoulder and grinning. “You name the time.”

“I usually go about three.”

“Great.” Ian slides off the desk and sits on one of the chairs near the door. He grabs one of the magazines they have scattered on the table and crosses one leg over the other.

Mickey stalks over to him and stands there, hands on his hips. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Ian looks at him and smiles. “Waiting.”

“What the fuck for?”

Ian’s smile widens. “Three.”

“Don’t you have a fucking movie to make or something?”

“First read-through is tomorrow. Shooting starts the end of next week. You should come out and see us shoot one day. Experience the magic.”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

“I mean movie magic.” Ian waggles his eyebrows, looking Mickey up and down. “Not the kind of magic you and I make.”

“Knock that shit off. There’s no one to fool here now.”

“Mickey? Do you have nice clothes?” Mandy asks, her hand over the mouthpiece. “Sorry that’s a stupid question. You need some nice clothes. We’re going to dinner with Ian’s agent.”

“Why the fuck would we do that?”

“To talk about the gala.”

Ian straightens and looks interested. “What gala?”

“The one you’re throwing to raise money for our centers.”

“That is downright generous of me.” He grabs Mickey’s wrist and pulls him down into his lap. “But anything for my fiance, right?” Mickey’s body reacts, but he follows his flight or fight instincts instead of his libido’s, and jabs Ian hard in the stomach. Ian’s grin doesn’t falter. Instead he leans in and kisses Mickey hard on the cheek.

“It’s a great idea,” Mandy says as she directs a hard glare at Mickey as he scrambles off Ian’s lap. “We can use the movie’s opening to center it around, and it’s good publicity for everyone. Kevin and I have it all planned out. We’ll finalize it all tonight.”

“When is this? Do we even have time to pull something like that off?”

Mandy waves her hand dismissively. “Plenty of time. Four months, right? So...”

“Wait. Wait a minute. What? Four _months_?” Mickey looks at Ian with wide eyes. “You never said this was going to be for four fucking _months_.”

“Kevin should have told you.” Ian shrugs, but his eyes are wary. “I mean, I couldn’t just have a fiance that showed up out of nowhere and then disappears after a couple of weeks.”

“ _Four fucking months_?”

“Is that a problem?” He looks from Mandy to Mickey. “Kevin didn’t go over all of this with you? You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m absolutely positively sure that he failed to fucking mention it.”

“Oh.” 

Mickey exhales slowly as he watches a host of emotions run across Ian’s face. He recognizes too many of them too well. “Four months.” He chews his lower lip, more to give himself time to work up to saying it rather than to build any kind of suspense. “I guess it’s not like you can get someone else now.”

Ian sighs and his shoulders visibly relax. “Thank you.”

“Suppose I have to move in this weekend too.”

Mandy gasps, feigning shock. “Before you’re married? Mickey, I had _no_ idea you’re such a loose woman.”

“Fuck you.” Mickey flips her off for good measure.

“Oh, he’s not.” Ian grins at Mandy and Mickey directs his middle finger to Ian instead. “Separate bedrooms. Mickey’s gonna wear white.”

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you. If anyone’s wearing fucking white, it’s you, asshole.”

“No, no. Mickey’s right.” Mandy nods. “No. Actually. Ivory, I think. It’ll go better with your hair and skin tone. Mickey’s too pale to pull either of those off.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Mickey’s mouth is a thin line and his eyebrows are almost to his hairline. “Pretty damn sure you do.”

“Yes sir.” Mandy salutes, snapping her heels together. “Go out to lunch with your true love. I’ll hold the fort.”

Mickey growls and glares at Ian. “Fine. A _short_ lunch.”

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t dream of anything else.” Ian’s got his hand up in a scout’s salute, and he’s grinning like a fucking psycho. Mickey can’t help but roll his eyes. “Should we go somewhere around here?”

“Whatever. Fine.”

“Excellent.” Ian grabs Mickey’s hand, holding it too tightly for Mickey to pull away. He squeezes just this side of painful in warning, then laces their fingers together.

“Do people actually still hold fucking hands?”

Ian squeezes again. “We do.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill your agent.” Ian laughs and leans in, kissing Mickey’s cheek. Mickey shoves him off, though he doesn’t go far considering their joined hands. “Stop being so fucking gay.”

“Can’t help it. Comes with the territory.” Mickey’s torn between wanting to wipe the grin off Ian’s face with his fist or by kissing him. Either one is likely dangerous. “What’s good around here?”

“What are you hungry for?”

Ian’s eyes rake over Mickey. “I’m easy. Surprise me.”

Mickey feels the heat of a blush stain his skin, and his cock jerks in response to Ian’s hot, deliberate gaze. Mickey’s tempted to go to some fast food place, but his luck, Ian would fit right in. He might as well get a decent lunch out of this. “Fine. Come on.” He tries to march off, but Ian keeps a tight hold on his hand. He’s all fucking smiles, the cocky shit.

Mickey takes him to a diner that has shitty service, but amazing food. He orders his usual chili-cheese fries with extra cheese and onions and a chocolate milkshake. Ian frowns and tilts his head like a confused puppy. “That’s all you want?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I’m buying.”

“I can afford my own fucking lunch.”

Ian’s face changes, gets defiant. His chin juts out. “I’m paying.”

Mickey narrows his eyes, but catches their waitress, the rest of the wait staff and the cooks all watching them. “I’m pretty sure it’s my turn, baby.” He smirks at the nickname, but Ian fucking beams.

“Nope. You paid when we went to The Brown Derby. My turn.” He hooks his ankle around Mickey’s. “I promise I can afford it, so order whatever.”

Mickey gives Ian a look that promises retribution. “Fine.” He adds on a steak sandwich, which seems to please Ian to no end.

“What about Mandy? Should we bring something back for her?”

“I suppose. She likes their club sandwiches with extra bacon.” 

“Okay. So those and then I want the steak sandwich, bacon-cheese tater tots and a strawberry shake. And pie. What’s your favorite kind of pie, Mick?”

“I don’t want any pie.”

“We’ll take it home. Have it for dessert.” He leans forward with a wicked smile, not even looking at the waitress. “Well, after I have you for dessert.”

“Jesus Christ, Ian.” He knows his face looks like it’s on fire. The waitress walks away with a smile big enough to rival Ian’s. Mickey lowers his voice. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Just playing the part.”

“By talking about our sex life?”

“Implying. Besides if this were real I’d fuck you every night, multiple times. Remember?”

“I eat here a lot. I’ll continue to eat here. This is my life you’re fucking with here.”

“Mr. Gallagher?”

Ian turns a megawatt smile on the waitress and she almost drops the milkshakes. She sets them down shakily as Ian takes her arm to steady her. As it is, some of Mickey’s drops onto the table, including his whipped cream, which is the best fucking part. “Yes?”

“I was just...my sister is a huge fan.”

“You’re not?” Ian teases. Mickey rolls his eyes as the waitress blushes and gets more flustered. 

“I am. Of course I am. I just...I know she’d flip over an autograph.”

“Of course. I’m just teasing.” Ian grabs the edge of one of the napkins in her apron pocket and tugs it free, careful not to touch her. Mickey’s pretty sure she’s going to faint anyway. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Rhonda.”

Mickey glances at her name tag and sees her name is Rhonda. Ian’s smiling and, while it’s not exactly smug, it is knowing. Mickey raises his eyebrows and disengages his ankle from Ian’s, kicking off one of his shoes and sliding his foot between Ian’s legs, pressing the arch of it against Ian’s dick.

Ian sucks in a breath and stills before finishing his signature with a flourish that Mickey doesn’t think is typical. He drops one hand under the table and cover’s Mickey’s foot with his palm, keeping it tight against him. “There you go.”

“T-thanks.”

“Of course.” Ian smiles at her and Mickey wonders how he manages to seem so genuine. Maybe he actually is. “Do you think we could get another shake for Mickey? The whipped cream is his favorite.” Ian says it perfectly innocently, but there’s nothing innocent about his look. He runs his finger through the whipped cream on his shake and holds it out, painting Mickey’s lower lip with it.

Mickey’s breath is tight in his chest, and he licks his lower lip before catching Ian’s finger between his teeth then sucking on it. Ian presses more firmly on Mickey’s foot and Mickey can feel Ian hardening as he sucks.

Ian’s voice his thick, his pupils dilated. “See?”

Rhonda nods, her eyes wide. “Y-yeah.”

Mickey has no idea what she does then, because he can’t look away from Ian. He scrapes his teeth over Ian’s finger then leans back, releasing it slowly as he moves.

Ian swallows hard and shifts slightly, not dislodging Mickey’s foot.

Mickey smiles and licks his lips. “Hope she put our order in. I’m fucking starved.”

“Yeah.” Ian nods and runs his fingers lightly over the top of Mickey’s foot. Mickey’s eyes flutter closed and his cock hardens. “We could get it to go.”

“And forgo all this ambiance?”

“Here’s your milkshake.” Rhonda’s hands are still shaking, and Mickey grabs it from her before it suffers the same fate as the last. 

“Thanks.” Mickey takes the cherry from the top and runs it through the whipped cream and sticks it into his mouth. Ian’s eyes are so fucking hot. Mickey wants to sink down to his knees and suck Ian down, paint Ian’s dick from the cherry juice. He plucks the stem free and chews the cherry then licks his fingers clean.

Ian’s voice is rough, hot. “Do you get them all wet like that before you work yourself open?”

“Suck them hard.” Mickey’s voice is breathless, matching Ian’s. “Three of them. Two’s not enough.”

“Jesus,” Ian growls under his breath. His chest is rising and falling rapidly. His cock is hard under Mickey’s foot and he can feel the pulse throbbing. “Need to get you alone.” Ian licks his lips and swallows hard. “Come back home with me. Let Mandy run the office.” He presses harder on Mickey’s foot, thrusting against it. “Want to watch you. Watch you get ready for me.”

“Here you go!” Rhonda and another waitress come over, dishing out their orders from the platters they’re balancing. “You just let us know if you need _anything_ else,” the other girl says, setting the sack with Mandy’s sandwich in it on the back of the table, her breasts dangling suspiciously close to Ian. 

“Thank you, ladies.” Ian seems on the verge of asking them to pack everything up to go, so Mickey digs into his chili-cheese fries, easing his foot away. Things with Ian keep getting way too heated way too fast, so Mickey focuses on eating, keeping his eyes averted. Ian makes a frustrated sound before turning his attention to his own lunch. He doesn’t give up completely though, sliding his leg against Mickey’s. No matter how much Mickey tries to move it out of the way, Ian’s stupid long legs seem to manage.

“This is good,” Ian admits as he reaches over to steal one of Mickey’s fries.

“Hey!”

“What?” Ian looks at Mickey, attempting to feign innocence again.

“You really suck at that, you know.” Mickey grabs one of Ian’s tater tots and dredges it through the cheese and back to make sure it’s well-coated before eating it, sucking each finger clean and releasing them with a smacking wet pop. Ian’s eyes are hot enough to burn, pupils wide and dark and dangerous. “Turnabout is fair play, Gallagher. And I don’t fuck around where french fries are involved.”

“I learn something new about you every day.” Ian reaches out and catches Mickey’s hand, threading their fingers together. He preps another tater tot like the last and feeds it to Mickey, waiting until Mickey’s done chewing to let him suck his fingers, which Mickey does without thinking. “I love that.” His voice lowers, softens. “I love you.”

Mickey feels heat flood through him, rising up his neck and his face. “Told you not to say shit like that in public.”

“Can’t help it.” Ian tightens his grip and tugs their hands closer, kissing the back of Mickey’s. His eyes hold Mickey’s, the challenge clear. Mickey raises an eyebrow then stands up, leaning over the table and kissing Ian slowly and thoroughly. He feels more than hears the sound Ian makes and, unsurprisingly, his cock hardens more. He thrusts his tongue, fucking Ian’s mouth slowly.

Ian pulls back eventually, mouth wet. “Can we go back to the house now?”

“I have a meeting in an hour.”

Ian groans under his breath. “You’re fucking killing me.”

“Could do what Mandy suggested and make you wait until the wedding.”

“Fucking evil,” Ian pouts. 

“That’s me.” Mickey sinks back down in his seat and tilts his head slightly toward the counter where all of the waitresses are staring at them. “I think we may have killed them.”

“Maybe. I know how they feel.”

“Dunno, Gallagher. Pretty sure you still have some blood pumping somewhere.” Mickey grins and grabs his sandwich, waggling his eyebrows at Ian as he takes a bite. Ian smirks and goes back to eating his lunch. He starts talking, good at small talk or at least good at talking. He’s funny though, so it doesn’t annoy Mickey, and he actually finds himself smiling a lot. Some of it is at what Ian’s saying, and some of it is simply at Ian. He’s as bright as his hair, smart and seemingly constantly in sunlight. 

There’s still plenty of food left, both of them too involved in talking to eat, when Mickeys’ phone rings. He looks down at it and frowns before he answers. “What?”

“I don’t know, asswipe,” Mandy hisses. “Maybe you should be here for the fucking meeting.”

“Shit.” Mickey laughs. I’ll be there in fifteen.” Mandy growls this time. “Okay, ten.”

“Laner is with them. You fucking _owe_ me. And so fucking help me, he touches my ass, you are losing something important.”

“Your love and affection?”

“Get back here. _Now_.”

Mickey hangs up and stands, leaning over and grabbing Ian’s shirt so he can pull him close, kiss him hard and quick. “Gotta go.”

“Tonight?”

“Office closes at seven.” He grabs Mandy’s food. “Pick me up. Assuming Mandy hasn’t killed me.” He takes off for the office before Ian can say anything. There are three guys in suits, none of whom Mickey really has any interest in dealing with right now. Mandy is usually never in the mood to deal with them, especially Laner, but they don’t actually have a ton of choice. They work through the contracts quickly enough, though all three of them frown when Mandy says something about having their lawyer look it over. Mandy and Mickey share a look, obviously there’s something their lawyer needs to look over.

After they’re gone – after Mandy deliberately doesn’t shake Laner’s hand – she opens the bag with her lunch. “Extra bacon?”

“Extra bacon.”

“If your grin is anything to go by, I’m going to guess the lunch went well.”

Mickey sinks down at his desk. “I am not going to be able to hang out with him for four months.”

“Why? Because you want to bone him?”

“Because he’s nice and funny and smart and-”

“And you want to bone him.”

“Shit.” Mickey buries his face in his hands, his head bowed. “So fucking much.”

“So? He seems amenable to the boning. Do it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?”

Mickey sighs and looks at her. “Because he’s paying me to do this.”

“Oh.” Mandy frowns then shrugs. “So? Being a whore is a long and glorious tradition in Hollywood. And in the south side.”

Mickey huffs a laugh. “Not really something I want to add to my resume.”

“So don’t take the money.”

Looking at her, Mickey enunciates carefully. “Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.”

“Oh. Right. So...so just tell him you’re not interested.”

“Pretty sure I’ve provided ample evidence to the contrary.”

“Jesus. Must suck to have a dick. No privacy at all.” She eats several bites of her sandwich. “Okay, so Ian goes away on location next week, right? He’ll be gone at least two months, right?”

“Um. Sure?”

“Yes. So other than some possible quick visits, that’s half of your time gone.”

Mickey frowns. “How do you know so much about his schedule?”

“I ask questions instead of fantasizing about his dick.” She finishes her lunch and tosses the bag in the garbage. “Though, I bet it’s a really nice dick.” She laughs loudly at Mickey’s face. “Now I’m going to buy us each something nice to wear for dinner...that, from the look on your face, you totally forgot about since you’re sex-starved.”

“Didn’t forget.”

“It’s a wonder you lived as long as you did at home. You’re a shitty liar.”

“Not when I was lying to myself too.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “Fine. Go. Nothing fucking gay looking.”

“Damn. And here I was planning on bringing my Bedazzler.”

**

The shirt is fucking _lilac_ , which he’s pretty sure is fucking gay – though Mandy assures him that ‘light purple’ is manly enough – and he’s silently plotting Mandy’s death when Ian walks in and stops. “Wow.”

It takes Mickey a second to realize Ian was the one who said it, because it was what had gone through Mickey’s head when he saw Ian dressed in gray slacks, his dark blue shirt in sharp contrast. The second thought Mickey has is that, no matter how good he looks, he wants Ian _out_ of those fucking clothes.

Ian walks over and cups his hand along Mickey’s jaw, leaning in. He whispers, “Press outside” before he kisses him. Mickey’s not sure if it’s an excuse or if Ian’s genuinely stupid enough to think Mickey’s going to bitch about Ian’s tongue slowly fucking his mouth.

“Jesus, you two. Get a room.”

“Plan on it.” Ian laughs, barely pulling away. “But someone insisted we go to dinner.”

“Well, your libidos take a backseat to this.” She grabs her shawl and hands it to Ian. He takes it and holds it open so she can step in and he can wrap it around her. “Why is it always the gay guys who know how to treat a lady.”

“I’m gay,” Mickey reminds her, “and I haven’t got a fucking clue.”

“Yeah, but you’re an idiot in general.”

Mickey flips her off. “Man, with a sister like you, it’s no wonder I don’t like chicks.”

“And the entire female population of the earth worships me for that fact, I’ll have you know.”

Ian laughs as Mickey smirks and flips her off again. “I’m pretty grateful too.”

“Or you’re just as much an ass as she is.”

“Yeah.” Ian moves over to Mickey and wraps his arm around his waist. “But I have it on good authority that you’re pretty fond of my ass.”

“Can we get this over with?” Mickey rolls his eyes and nods toward the door. Ian’s fingers rub against Mickey’s side as he starts toward the door. They pile into the Uber, a few flashes of the photographers lighting up the fading daylight.

Kevin’s waiting for them at the restaurant, and Mickey and Mandy both do their best not to gawk. “Are you sure we’re dressed okay for this place?” Mandy asks quietly.

“You look beautiful,” Kevin assures her and Mickey stares as Mandy blushes. Fucking _blushes_. 

Mickey narrows his eyes. Ian shakes his head and puts his hand in the small of Mickey’s back, guiding him toward the table. “Easy there, tough guy.” He settles beside him as Kevin pulls out Mandy’s chair.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Mickey grumbles under his breath.

“Are you upset I didn’t pull out your chair?” Ian asks with a smile.

Mickey’s return smile is bright and absolutely fake. “Fuck you.”

“Later, apparently.” Ian brushes his fingers over the back of Mickey’s neck, and Mickey shivers in response. Ian closes the distance and nuzzles Mickey just below his ear. “Hey.”

“You’re fucking impossible.”

“Mm.”

“Dude. My sister’s right fucking there.” Mickey pushes Ian away with no real force behind it, and a bright red blush on his cheeks.

“So modest.”

Kevin clears his throat. “This actually is a working dinner, Ian.”

Ian sighs dramatically and sits back in his chair. “Okay. Okay. I’ll behave.”

Mandy’s frown furrows her forehead. “This is important, Ian. To us.”

He sits up straight, getting serious. “I know. I know it means a lot to you. So give me your spiel.”

Mandy looks at Mickey. “Go on.”

“What?” Mickey shakes his head, looking at her in confusion.

“If he’s going to host the gala, he needs to know what’s going on.”

Mickey glares at her. “He’s already read the press packet. How else did they know about it?”

“Actually,” Kevin interrupts, “I read the press packet and, when Ian came up with this idea, we were trying to figure out how to entice you into doing it. It seemed like a win-win. So, really, Ian just knows the basics.”

Mickey blows out a sigh. “You tell him, Mandy.”

“No way. This is your baby.” She smiles and there’s nothing mocking in it. Mickey appreciates Mandy’s dedication to his dream being almost as strong as his. “Go on.”

Mickey hates talking in front of people, even just a couple. He hates the way they look expectantly at him, hates the way he feels like a fake. Ian smiles at him, and it seems as genuine as Mandy’s. “I want to hear about it.”

Of course, Ian’s a fucking actor.

“Fine.” He gives Mandy a dirty look. “Bitch.” He takes a deep breath. “You know where we grew up. What it was like. Even kids with supportive families – if there were any besides yours – have to deal with shit. We can’t all con people into being a fake girlfriend to keep all the assholes from beating the shit out of us. We can’t all manage to develop enough self-preservation to fuck girls as a cover. We can’t all hide behind pretending to be a homophobe like everyone else around us.” He takes a drink of his water, careful not to look at anyone, especially Ian. “You can fuck or get fucked in juvie but, I mean, I wouldn’t recommend it as a life choice. Plus, you’re just as likely to get beaten within an inch of your life or raped. Most of the guys there aren’t exactly boyfriend material, you know? And I mean, I don’t know what it’s like for girls. Maybe it’s better. But it sucked. It sucked for me. There wasn’t a place I could go without wondering if I should fucking throw myself off an abandoned building. There wasn’t a safe space. So that’s what I’m trying to create.”

“How?”

Mickey goes through the entire plan and work-ups for the center. Ian listens and asks good, thoughtful questions. Mickey can feel Mandy smiling at him, and though he knows it’s cocky and telling, he also knows it’s genuine. That she’s proud of him.

Ian’s leaning forward, actively listening. Mickey has to wave at Mandy to give him a piece of paper and a pen, jotting down some ideas that Ian tosses out. Kevin and Mandy may as well not exist for all the attention Ian and Mickey are paying them. It takes a minute for Mickey to realize Kevin’s talking to him, gesturing to where the waiter is staring at him impatiently waiting for Mickey to order. 

He picks the first thing off the menu – no idea what, but it’s all in French, so it doesn’t fucking matter what he picks, he’ll have no clue what the fuck it is. Ian orders in French, because _of course he does_ , but then he turns away from the waiter and goes right back into the question he’d been asking Mickey before the interruption.

Mickey forgets about being shy, too passionate about the project, and he starts talking with his hands. Without meaning to, he ends up touching Ian a lot. It’s different than what they’ve done so far. It’s firm and gripping and intense, a different kind of heat altogether.

Kevin and Mandy talk while they eat, lining up details of the gala. Ian keeps smiling over at Mickey, and Mickey is very definitely not thinking about being alone with him, seeing what else Ian can do with his hands. 

Suddenly Ian shivers. Mickey sees it out of the corner of his eye and looks over. Ian’s eyes are closed and Jason’s hand is on the back of Ian’s neck, deceptively light, but Mickey can see the skin of his fingers blanched white.

“Hey, Ian. Kevin.”

Kevin’s voice is like ice, his eyes on Jason’s hand. “Jason. What a surprise.”

“You want to remove your hand?” Mickey tries to keep his voice calm. “Or do I need to break every single one of the 27 bones in it?”

“Got yourself your own personal pit bull, hm?” Jason releases Ian and Mickey can see the red marks he leaves behind. “What are you protecting yourself from, lover?”

“Protection?” Mickey smirks. “Don’t let the Hollywood fool you. You can take the boy out of south side, but he’ll still kick your punk ass.”

“Not my Ian.” He reaches out to touch Ian again. Ian’s hand snaps up and grabs Jason’s wrist. 

“I’m not _your_ Ian.” He looks at Jason defiantly. “I’m not your anything.”

Jason raises an eyebrow, his smile tight. “Really.”

“Yes.”

Mickey glances at Ian and smiles, something private, proud. Mickey’s aware of how hard it is to stand up to someone, especially someone you think has power over you. He rubs two fingers over Ian’s knee as Ian releases Jason’s hand. Jason moves to touch Ian again and Mickey’s on his feet, bending Jason’s hand backwards. “Touch him again and we’ll have a restraining order on your ass so fast and hard, you’ll think you’re getting fucked in more ways than one. Pretty sure your parents want a stalker for a son about as much as they want a queer, hm? Though both would be a lot worse, wouldn’t it?”

Jason sneers at Mickey. “Maybe I’m the one who needs to get a restraining order.”

“Either way, you’re going to keep your ass away from Ian, aren’t you, bitch?”

Ian reaches out and carefully pulls Mickey’s hand away from Jason. “Let’s go home, Mick.”

“Yeah.” He glances at Mandy and Kevin. “You good?”

Mandy nods. “Yeah. Because you can’t take the south side out of the girl either.”

Mickey moves past Jason, taking Ian’s hand and bringing him closer before wrapping his arm around Ian’s waist. “C’mon. We’re having dessert at home, remember?”

Ian’s laugh is slightly shaky, but he covers it well. “I never picked up the pie.”

Mickey lowers his voice, hot and dirty, but still loud enough to hear. “Not the dessert I’m talking about.”

They walk out to the sidewalk. Mickey ignores the press, focusing on Ian and holding him tight enough that Ian’s trembles aren’t visible. Ian bends his head, breathing against Mickey’s cheek. “Hi. Thank you.”

“Hey, Gallagher. Your public is watching.” He grins and turns his head, tilting it so Ian can kiss him. It’s slow and warm and easy, even though Mickey knows he’s got tension hot beneath his skin and he imagines Ian does too. Mickey slides his hand up to the back of Ian’s neck, holding them both together breathing each other until the valet clears his throat. Mickey pulls back and Ian’s mouth is swollen from the pressure. “Fuck, you look good.”

“Look better with fewer clothes on.”

Mickey grins widely. “I know. I saw _Infinite Highways_.”

“That was _art_.”

“That was soft core porn and jerk off material for, fuck, until Chicago.” Mickey can see the press crowding in, hear them starting to shout louder questions. “Seeing you again.”

Ian pushes Mickey toward the car, playfully. He’s more relaxed now and Mickey’s smile widens even more. “Get in the car and I’ll give you a private showing.”

Mickey climbs in, pressing down against his erection to try to keep it under control. It doesn’t seem to help, especially when Ian slides in beside him. Flashes go off, and Ian turns, sliding a hand between Mickey’s thighs as he kisses him.

Mickey groans as Ian’s fingers graze against his dick, and he pants into Ian’s mouth. “P-pretty sure the press isn’t looking between my legs.”

“Can never be too sure.” Ian’s palm presses over the curve of Mickey’s dick, and it feels so much fucking better than Mickey’s own did. Especially given how much thinner the material of his slacks is compared to the jeans he usually wears. “God,” Ian is breathless. “I want to fuck you.”

“Christ.” Mickey gives in, climbing in Ian’s lap. He wraps his arms over Ian’s shoulders, hand cupping the back of Ian’s head. He kisses him hungrily, catching Ian’s tongue and sucking on it.

Ian tugs Mickey’s shirt free of his slacks and slides his hands up Mickey’s back, fingers trailing up his spine. Mickey grinds down against him, chest flush with Ian’s. “Need you home. Need you naked. Now,” Ian groans. “Fuck.”

The world suddenly expands from just Ian to include the driver when the engine revs. Mickey has to concentrate to parse the words, his brain muddled with want. “So, where’re we going?”

Ian rests his head against Mickey’s chest. Mickey slides off Ian’s lap as Ian tells the driver the address. Ian frowns when Mickey moves, but doesn’t say anything.

“Your ex is an ass, by the way.” Mickey leans his head back and turns it to look at Ian. “Glad your taste has improved.”

“Much improved.”

Mickey takes several deep breaths, trying to settle himself down so that he doesn’t ride Ian in the car. They get to Ian’s and Mickey slides out of the car. Ian follows him and comes up behind him, catching Mickey’s hips, rubbing circles on Mickey’s sides. Ian crowds Mickey against the door, reaching around him to unlock it.

“Christ, Gallagher.” Mickey grinds back against Ian’s dick. “That was all you in the movie, wasn’t it? No special effects.”

“Not even a little bit of CGI.” Ian laughs. “100% natural.”

The door finally opens and Ian ushers Mickey inside. He turns Mickey around and pushes him against the wall, grabbing Mickey’s wrists and pinning them above his head. He nuzzles Mickey’s jaw then nips at his throat. Mickey moans roughly as Ian sucks, pulling the skin into his mouth.

“Fuck, I want to mark you up. Bet you bruise so easily, so dark and gorgeous.” Ian licks the spot then bites again. “Black and blue and purple and fucking white skin.”

Mickey’s hips rock forward as Ian’s mouth moves lower, biting, sucking, and licking his way down. Mickey’s head falls back and he tries to break Ian’s hold on his wrists, but the movement just makes Ian tighten his grip. “F-fuck.”

Ian’s mouth hits the junction of Mickey’s neck and shoulder, his teeth sinking in sharply. Mickey whimpers, hips jerking, needing contact, needing friction.

“Don’t move.” Ian mutters, voice husky. He releases one of Mickey’s wrists, trailing his hand along Mickey’s arm. Mickey inhales then exhales, the breath shaking out of him. Ian traces Mickey’s collar until he reaches the tie, tugging it loose. “Use this to hold you still.”

“N-not gonna m-move.”

Ian gets the tie undone, letting it hang around Mickey’s neck. He undoes the buttons slowly, making sure to slide his fingers over Mickey’s skin as he bares it. Eventually all the buttons are undone and Mickey’s littered with goosebumps. Ian splays both hands on Mickey’s abdomen, pushing Mickey’s shirt apart before moving up to his shoulders and pushing his shirt over them.

Mickey closes his eyes, his breath catching as Ian works the shirt off of him. Ian’s hands slide back down and stop at Mickey’s chest, thumbs rubbing over Mickey’s nipples. Mickey’s whole body shudders and Ian laughs hoarsely.

“Fuck. So responsive. Jesus.” He bends his head and flicks his tongue over a nipple. Mickey’s back arches, his shoulders hard against the wall. His arms ache, his dick aches.

“I-Ian. Please. Fuck.”

“Please?”

“Please,” Mickey knows he’s begging. Doesn’t care. “Just...I want...need...”

“I know what you need. You need whatever I give you.”

Mickey recognizes too well the tone of Ian’s voice. He shakes his head slightly, blinking the haze from his eyes. His hands catch Ian’s arms to still him. “What?”

“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?”

“Fuck no.” Mickey pushes Ian away. “We’re done here.”

“What?” Ian blinks, stepping back, obviously confused.

“I’ll need whatever you give me?” Mickey feels like he’s had ice cold water dumped on him. “Fuck that shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nobody but me decides what I want, what I need. Unless you plan on beating the shit out of me and forcing me.”

“I wouldn’t...I don’t...” Ian looks completely lost. “What are you talking about?”

“Where’s the guest room?” Mickey grabs his shirt and pulls it back on. Something hard and dark and familiar has settled in his stomach, and he takes a few steps away to put distance between them. “Pretty sure I should stay there tonight.”

Ian shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to...I wouldn’t. I mean, I...that isn’t...”

“Drop it.” Mickey looks away, frowning. “Just tell me where it is.”

“Down the hall. To the left.”

Mickey ignores the confusion and the hurt in Ian’s voice. He’s got no right to it. “Cool. Night.”

“Mickey...”

“Look.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and exhales. “You’ve got a lot of shit in your head from him. I get that. But I’m not him, and I’m sure as fuck not you, okay? My dad spent most of my life trying to tell me what to like, what I wanted, what I had to be. That’s _my_ baggage. My shit that I can’t quite get rid of. Jason’s yours apparently, and it’s clear the two don’t mix. Not your fault. Not mine.”

“He was...and everyone else, the other guys since then, they thought that was how I was supposed to be. I don’t _want_ to be like him.”

“This is temporary.” Mickey gestures between them. “You and me.”

“I know that.”

“So maybe we should just keep it solely in the public eye.”

Ian’s whole demeanor changes, stiffens, walls going up. “That’s what you want?”

“It’s for the best.”

Ian nods, his jaw set. “Fine.”

“Besides, you’re paying me to do this, and I really don’t have any desire to be anyone’s bitch. Even yours.”

“How about I call you a cab and you spend the night at home.” Ian’s voice is as tight as his jaw, his eyes dark and narrow.

“That’s fine.” Mickey grits his teeth. “We calling this off?”

“You think having sex with you is worth losing the press and mileage I’m getting out of you? Worth humiliating myself? Don’t fucking flatter yourself.”

“Trust me, I fucking know none of this is flattering to me.”

Ian gets his phone out and flips through his contacts before making a call, voice tense. Mickey tugs his tie free of his collar and shoves it in his pocket, brushing past Ian to go outside. This is starting to border on a fucking habit.

**

“What the actual _fuck_ , Mickey?” Mandy slams Mickey’s bedroom door open. “What the fuck is fucking wrong with you?” He blinks at her before getting up, ignoring her and going into his bathroom. “Don’t fucking ignore me!”

“Step the fuck off, bitch. And get the fuck out of my room.”

“Why are you being such a fucking idiot about this? You have the chance to fuck the hottest fucking guy in, like, the fucking universe, and you’re fucking it up!”

“You know fuck all about this, Mandy, so butt out.” He grabs the warm beer on his nightstand and downs the rest of it. “How the fuck do you even know anything about this anyway?”

“You’re fucking _home_ , aren’t you? And you guys were practically humping at the table. Which means either he was a lousy lay, which I refuse to believe, or you got all...you.”

“All _me_? What the fuck does that fucking mean?”

“Admit it!”

“Look, he’s got some fucked up ideas about sex, and it’s not my thing, okay?”

“Fucked up? Like animals and shit?”

“Christ! No. Don’t be fucking gross. His ex has him all fucked up.”

“So unfuck him up.”

“One? It’s not worth it. This isn’t some fucking fairy tale, okay? We do this for a couple of months, and then we’re done. Two? Still getting fucking paid.”

“It’s a donation!”

“Doesn’t matter if the money goes to me or the center, Mandy. If you’re so concerned about Gallagher getting laid, go buy a fucking strap on.”

Mandy pauses, considering, and Mickey wants to throw something at her. “You think he’d go for that?”

“Get the _fuck_ out!”

“You’re a fucking idiot, and you’re fucking up a good thing.”

He gives into the impulse and throws the empty beer can at the door as she ducks out of the way. “Get _out_!”

Mickey stalks over and slams his door shut again before going to the bathroom. He showers and gets dressed, kicking some of the beer cans he’d emptied last night out of his way. He hadn’t gotten nearly drunk enough after getting home from Ian’s. He could still think, still feel, still remember. Everything had crowded back in his head. He could hear Terry’s voice telling Mickey he’d fuck her, whoever she was – his first time, his first whore – and he’d fucking like it. Telling himself he did like it. Did want it. Wanted her. Every her. Even all these years of being out. Wanting Ian doesn’t take the memory out of his head.

You’ll fuck her and you’ll like it. How many times has he heard that? And now Ian’s voice is like an echo of Terry’s in his head. 

“Fuck!” Mickey punches the wall then shakes out his hand. It’s been too long since he’s used his fists. His hands are soft. The ‘fuck u-up’ a joke now instead of a mantra.

Mandy’s sitting in the kitchen, glaring at the coffee pot as it brews. Mickey’s glad he’s not on the receiving end of her look, though he knows it’s meant for him. He grabs the orange juice from the fridge, drinking it straight from the jug. Mandy makes a disgusted noise and Mickey flips her off.

“So are you not doing this anymore?”

Mickey tosses the empty jug in the recycling. “I’m doing it. We’re just keeping it restricted to the public shit. Appearances.”

“Are you moving in there.”

“As far as I know. Don’t know if I’m just supposed to take shit over there or what. He said we’d move me in this weekend, but we didn’t exactly make another date last night.”

“You could call him.”

“After coffee.” He takes the pot from in front of her and fills both mugs, stirring two spoonfuls of sugar into his. “It’s self-preservation. If I really get involved with him, I’m fucked.”

“If you tell me you don’t do relationships, I’ll kick you in the ball sack.”

“Ian Gallagher, Mandy. Not the south side kid. He’s fucking Hollywood’s darling. And I’m nobody. What do you think the endgame of this farce is going to be? That I can’t handle all the attention. You don’t think that’s just a polite fucking way of saying he realized I was an embarrassment?”

“You’re such a fucking fatalist.”

“I’m a realist.”

“You’re still fucking listening to dad.” She sneers at him. “He made you believe that being a man means you don’t show you care, don’t show weakness.”

Mickey leans forward, getting in her face. “Don’t you _ever_ mention him to me again.”

“You’re not the only one with a reason to hate him! Not the only one who was afraid of him.”

“He’s as good as dead. He doesn’t deserve us remembering him.” Telling Mandy that is easy. Telling himself that is hard. No. Believing it is hard.

“Yeah, well, Dad’s never been easy to get rid of.”

Mickey takes a drink of his coffee and makes a face. “Christ, how do you get coffee wrong? It’s grounds and water.”

“Fuck you. Make it yourself then.”

Mickey dumps out his cup and then the pot. He rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as he fills the pot with water. “I shouldn’t have signed up for this.”

“It’s just a few months.”

“Of my life. Hanging out with someone, pretending to love him. How fucked up is that?”

“You guys could end up liking each other.”

Mickey’s busies himself making the coffee. “I’m not worried about liking him. I know I like him. I’m worried about fucking him.”

“Just do it and get it over with. Forget about the money, okay? No one’s going to think you’re a whore. Four fucking people know about this, Mick. One arranged it, two are involved in it, and I’m awesome. Ian’s got just as much to lose as you do. Maybe more. And it might not mean to me what it does to you, but the center is my baby too. I’m not telling anyone.”

Mickey sighs. “It’s more than that. I don’t think...fuck. He wants shit I can’t give him. Shit that makes me sick to my stomach.”

“You said it wasn’t animals or shit. Isn’t the rest of it stuff you can work around?”

“No. Just...his ex fucked him up. And when he and I were in the middle of things, he said some shit. About how I’d do what he wanted. And like it.”

“Like dominatrix stuff?”

“Dominatrixes are women. But no. I mean, maybe that’s what he meant, but all I heard was Terry.”

“Oh.” Mandy’s voice is small, quiet. Mickey hates so much that even dead, Terry still has power over them. “It was mean? I mean mad?”

“Aggressive. Fuck, I’m such a fucking pussy. Aggressive doesn’t bother me. The fuck is wrong with me?”

“Mickey, you can’t help what happens in your head. Shit triggers you. That’s not your fault. Not his either.” She gets up and rests a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You guys obviously have some serious fucking chemistry.”

“Shit blows up in chemistry.”

Mandy laughs. “True. But you’re not going to have to do press all the time. You’re just going to be going about your life. He’ll be working. He starts night shoots soon. It’s already getting better.”

Mickey pours them both a cup of coffee. He hands one to Mandy. “Will you call him? Figure out what I’m supposed to do about moving in?”

“Yeah.” She takes a drink and groans. “How is your coffee always better?”

“Because I don’t suck.”

“Ha! That’s not what I’ve heard.” She dances out of his way, grabbing her phone off the table. “Careful now. You want me to do you a favor.”

**

Mickey opens the door and bites his lower lip. Ian looks a little worse for wear, just like he imagines he does. “Hey.”

“Hey. You have a lot of stuff to bring?”

“Mostly clothes. Laptop. Small stuff. Can probably fit it in a car easily. I mean, you didn’t have to come. Mandy could have driven me over there.”

“I wanted to make sure we were okay.” Ian shrugs and doesn’t quite look at him. “Offer you an out if you want.”

“I honor my commitments.” Mickey shrugs one shoulder. “You’ll be working. I’ll be working. Not like we’ll be out in public together a lot. Most of the shit’s in my room, I’ll be right back.”

Ian follows him and they haul out three suitcases, two boxes and four backpacks. They work well together, and Ian’s a commentary of bad puns about Mickey’s neighbors.

“You know, I have to live here with these people, and I’m never going to be able to get those fucking awful jokes out of my head.”

“I’m a giver.” Ian shuts the trunk of the car. He grins at Mickey and Mickey’s not completely sure what to do. At least not until he sees a flash out of the corner of his eye. 

“Pap to the left,” Mickey murmurs under his breath as he moves closer to Ian, pinning him to the car.

Ian settles a hand on Mickey’s waist, fingers curling into a fist through Mickey’s belt loop. “Good eye.”

“You’re lucky. I planned on punching you for that comment.”

Ian grins. “Punch me with your love.”

Mickey snorts and presses his face to Ian’s shoulder. “Christ, you’re the biggest fucking dork.”

Ian runs a hand over Mickey’s head. “Pretty much.”

Mickey has no intention whatsoever of looking up at Ian. The paparazzi can get their shots of the two of them all they want, but Mickey’s not looking up. Except he does, meeting the heated green of Ian’s gaze. Mickey’s brain gives up all pretense of listening to him, ignoring Mickey’s vague thoughts of slamming the breaks on this, of looking away.

“Jesus,” Ian breaths and Mickey wonders what must be written across his face to make Ian sound that way.

Mickey licks his lips. “What?” 

Ian’s hand moves off Mickey’s head, off his neck. He slides it down so his fingers are on one side of Mickey’s throat, his thumb tugging lightly at Mickey’s chin. 

“Just...just for the camera?” Mickey’s not sure what he’s clarifying or for whom. Ian nods once and then leans in, planting barely there kisses along Mickey’s jaw, at the corners of his mouth. “Ian...”

“Fuck,” Ian moans roughly. “Get so hard when you say my name like that. Deep and throaty and so fucking turned on.”

Mickey groans and presses closer, letting Ian’s leg slide between both of his. “You make this shit so hard.”

“Your dick?”

“That too.” Mickey laughs weakly. “Shit.”

Ian rakes his fingers through Mickey’s hair, cupping the back of Mickey’s head, tilting it back so he can suck hot kisses on Mickey’s neck. “Fuck. Want you so much. Had to jerk off twice last night.”

Mickey steps back at the mention of the night before, feeling like ice water has replaced the blood in his veins. “We should...should get this stuff moved.”

Ian steps back as well. “I’m sorry. I fucked up last night. I know I did. I didn’t realize he was still so far in my head.”

“We’ve all got our shit.” Mickey climbs in the car and waits for Ian to do the same. Ian sighs and then starts the car without saying a word. Mickey glances over at him and laughs. “Are you fucking pouting?”

“No.”

Mickey laughs incredulously. “Jesus. You are. Pretty sure you can get any ass you want, Gallagher. You don’t need mine.”

“Except we’re supposed to be together.”

“Dude, the same guys in Hollywood that you fucked before? Telling anyone you’re boning them while we’re engaged is the same as saying that they’re taking it up the ass. They’re not going to say shit.”

“So you don’t care?”

“Pay attention, Hollywood. This is all acting. You get your premiere. I get my money and, apparently, my fundraiser. We get out of each other’s lives. This isn’t ‘Ian and Mickey’s Big Fat Gay Excellent Romance’.”

“We could be friends.”

“Gallagher, I want your dick so far up my ass that your jizz comes out of my mouth.”

“Wow. That’s kind of graphically disgusting.”

“Yeah, well. That’s me. You want to fuck? In four months we can fuck like goddamned rabbits assuming you don’t pull that telling me what to do shit. Until then, get your rocks off with some star-fuckers.”

“That’s what you want.” There’s an angry set to Ian’s jaw and Mickey half expects Ian to shove him out of the car.

“This is a business arrangement.”

“Fine.” Ian keeps driving, not looking in Mickey’s direction. The rest of the ride is in complete silence. When they get to Ian’s, he grabs two suitcases and carries them directly to the guest room. Mickey follows him and his eyebrows shoot up as he walks inside. 

“Holy shit. Your room must be the size of my apartment.”

“Don’t worry. No one will ask you to describe it.” Ian sets the suitcases on the floor. “You can get the rest, right? I need to go over my script.”

“Yeah. Do I need a key or a pass code or something? Is there a maid I have to worry about?”

“I’ll have Kevin get one to you tomorrow. And it’s taken care of. Help yourself to whatever.” He turns on his heel and walks away. It’s so precise and perfect that all Mickey can think of is Mandy’s mention of Ian being in ROTC. And Mickey _definitely_ remembers Ian’s movie _West Point_. There’s a vague thought of seeing Ian in a uniform that’s _far_ too distracting for Mickey’s sanity.

“Shit.”

**

Mickey doesn’t see or hear Ian again for three days. When he comes home from getting a beer with Mandy after work, the dishwasher is running and Ian’s gym bag is tossed in the corner of the entryway. Mickey goes into the kitchen to make himself something to eat, pausing when he hears a noise from Ian’s room. He’s about to call out a greeting when he actually processes the sound.

Headboard. Sprints. Panting. The hushed rumble of sex.

Swallowing hard, Mickey walks backward a few feet before turning, bypassing the kitchen and going to his bedroom. He knows the twist in his gut is something he has no right to, that Ian fucking someone else is what he wants. Ian fucking someone else means Mickey doesn’t have to worry about fucking Ian, wanting him. He and Ian are a sham. No feelings involved, no feelings hurt.

He closes his bedroom door and leans against it, trying to regulate his breathing, trying to ignore the urge to storm into Ian’s bedroom and kick whoever it is he’s fucking in the ass, in the balls, and out of the fucking house. Exhaling, he sheds his clothes on the way to the bathroom. He turns the water up hot, scrubbing himself before twisting the knob to as cold as it will go. He lies in bed, tossing and turning, his brain offering up images of what Ian must look like, feel like.

“Fuck.” He kicks the covers off and goes to the kitchen, digging out a beer and pulling out the stuff for a sandwich since he’d gotten sidetracked earlier. He’s not actually hungry, but it’s something to do, something to occupy him so he can pretend he’s not listening for noises.

Ian’s bedroom door creaks as it opens. Mickey stares steadfastly at the tomato he’s slicing with the biggest, sharpest knife he could find.

“Oh...oh, shit.” Footsteps keep moving, speeding up on their way to the door. Mickey finishes making his sandwich and very carefully cuts it in half before carrying it to the island and settling on a stool. He drinks half his beer in two swallows and picks up his sandwich. It’s an amazing fucking sandwich, but he has zero appetite.

“Hey.” Ian walks up behind Mickey, grabbing half the sandwich off the plate as he goes toward the fridge. “We didn’t keep you up, did we?”

“No.” All Mickey can smell is sex and sweat. He takes another deep drink of his beer.

“Good. How’s it going?”

“Good. Keeping busy, you know. Got the newest update on the center. Almost finished with the renovations on the building, so we’re ahead of schedule.”

“Awesome. Shit, this is an amazing sandwich.”

“Thanks. How’s the movie going?” Mickey takes another drink, emptying his beer. “I’ve been crashed out by the time you come home, I guess.”

“Late night shoots.” Ian finally opens his beer, taking a deep swig. “Did Scott say hi on his way out?”

“No. Don’t think he was expecting to run into anyone, much less the cuckolded fiance.”

Ian laughs. “Probably should have told him. Doubt he’ll be back. Oh well, he wasn’t that great.”

Mickey nods and shoves the other half of the sandwich at Ian. “I’m going to head to bed.”

“It was good seeing you.” 

“You too.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not completely the truth either. “Night.” He walks back to his room, unable to keep from frowning. He stops at his door and turns around, going back to the kitchen. “Ian?”

Ian looks up from his phone, clearly surprised. “Yeah?”

“You okay, man?”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Just don’t seem like your usual self. Probably just tired, huh?”

Ian takes a drink of his beer and leans back against the counter. “You know you can make a fuckload more money selling this to the press, right?”

“Okay, there’s no way your agent would have approached me if he thought that was a possibility. And fuck you.”

Ian laughs. “No. You don’t want to do that, remember?”

Mickey shakes his head and goes back to his bedroom. He settles on the bed and stares up at the ceiling until he finally falls asleep.

He gets immune to it, or tells himself he does at least. Ian’s home about five nights a week, always late. He’s usually got company two of those nights. The nights are never the same though, so Mickey can’t actually avoid them. He’s gotten used to staying in his room, taking advantage of Ian’s obvious video game obsession; hauling two systems into his room and setting them up. He may be trapped, but he’s sure as fuck not going to be bored, and he has no intention of meeting another one of Ian’s fuckbuddies on their way out the door.

One morning Mickey comes out for breakfast, half asleep and just dressed in his boxers. He doesn’t hear any noises so he figures Ian must be at work. He makes himself coffee and pours a bowl of cereal, going out to the living room to see if he can find some TV to watch. He’s just about to sit down when he hears Ian.

“Mick?”

Mickey sets his stuff down and walks over to Ian’s bedroom door. The room is big, though it’s smaller than Mickey imagined. Ian’s on his bed, his brow furrowed. “What’s up?”

He does his best not to look and not to answer his own question, but he’s only human, and Ian is very naked. The room smells like sex, so Mickey stays in the doorway. Keeping his distance is probably the only smart thing he’s done so far. 

Ian rubs his forehead. “Can...Do you see my phone?”

His phone is on the stand by the door, so Mickey grabs it and brings it over to him. So much for being smart. “For the record, you look like shit.”

“Feel like shit.” He scrolls on his phone then types something. “So...I think I fucked up last night.”

“Got fucked up, you mean.”

“No. I...well, shit. Yes. That too.” Ian sighs. “A bunch of the cast went out last night. Went to a bar. Drank too much.”

“That part’s obvious. You want something for your head?”

“The press was there. Which means Joe was there. Which means Jason was there.”

“Oh.”

“And...Jason and I...”

Mickey doesn’t move. It’s a dangerous kind of stillness, the kind that comes when you realize something’s about to change your life. “I see.”

“No. Wait a minute.”

“Is he coming out for you?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Most out gay people don’t need a fucking beard. Christ.”

“We had sex.”

“Really,” Mickey drawls sarcastically. “I kind of figured that out. He still here?”

“No. It was at the bar. I...I brought someone else home.”

“Well, that’s even _better_.”

Ian huffs, his face flushing with anger. “You said you didn’t give a shit!”

“I said I didn’t give a shit if you fuck people, hell fuck multiple people in one night. I give a shit that you went back to that fucking abuser and gave him back some of the power you’ve worked so fucking hard for.”

“I didn’t.”

“Bullshit. You don’t think he’s gloating? You don’t think he’s counting the days until you come back? Terry used to fucking love it when I dated girls. He knew I was fucking miserable. When he made me get married. It’s a fucking power play and you’re so pissed off that I won’t fuck you that you don’t even fucking notice. Or you don’t fucking care. Or maybe you do want it. I’m not fucking sure which.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit.”

“No? How many guys were you fucking before this arrangement, Ian? How many? How often.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that what you want?” Mickey’s vaguely aware that they’re almost yelling, aware that he’s been fooling himself if he thinks it doesn’t bother him that Ian’s fucking other people, fooling himself that he doesn’t want this, that he doesn’t jerk off with Ian on his mind every night, that it’s him Ian’s fucking. “You want to fuck me?”

Ian’s still naked and his cock is hard, curled up toward his stomach. Mickey’s breath gets caught in his chest. He raises an eyebrow. Ian’s answer is written all over his face, in every line of his body, but Mickey needs to hear him say it.

Ian exhales roughly, but doesn’t say anything. Mickey’s laugh is rough and derisive. “No wonder he had to tell you what to do. You’re a fucking pussy.” Mickey turns around and heads for his room, bypassing his no doubt soggy cereal and cold coffee. He grabs a handful of clothes from one of the dresser drawers and throws them in the open suitcase on the floor of the closet. Fuck Ian and fuck his money. Mickey would rather write grant requests until his fingers bleed than stay here.

The door bounces off the wall when Ian slams into the room. His muscles bulge as his fist holds the door open. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Not your bitch, that’s for damn sure.”

Ian strides into the room and shoves Mickey back. “No? You’re the one getting fucked around on. That’s what every one of those guys think. That you can’t get it up, can’t satisfy me. That’s what they think.”

“Who gives a fuck what they think?”

“Mickey Milkovich, the little bitch that can’t get it up. Not enough of a man to even take it up the ass.”

Mickey sneers, trying to breathe past the rage in his chest. He knows he’s at the edge of a cliff. He exhales, breath hissing through his teeth. “That’s the best you got? You’ve got fucking script writers. My dad was an uneducated moron and he gave better than that. C’mon, Gallagher. I know I’m not a man because I take it up the ass. I know I’m a goddamned pussy. Try harder. Here, I’ll help. I’m a fucking shitstain. A fucking mistake. Should have drowned me when I was born, a disgrace. C’mon, Ian. You think you’re the worst? You’re fucking _nothing_. Have some cunt fuck me against my will. Hold a fucking gun on me while I fuck her. You want to fucking tell me who I am and what to do, then you’re gonna have to do a fuck lot better than this bullshit.” He doesn’t yell. His voice is calm, every word a sharp knife slicing his throat as it comes out. “You want to know who I think I am, Ian? I’m a fucking asshole who survived a fuckload of shit and who worked like hell to maybe be in a place where I can maybe make up something to all the kids who got called gay by people like my dad and like me, all the kids who were gay. All the ones I fucked up because I was scared as fuck. I want to make their lives a little fucking easier so they’re not the ones wishing the fucking gun in his hand would just go off. That’s why I’m doing this. That’s who I am. And if you want to know what I’m doing? I’m calling uncle and getting the fuck out of here.”

It’s not until he reaches for another handful of clothes that he realizes he’s shaking. His chest is heaving and he can’t look at Ian.

Ian’s quiet for a long moment, and when he does speak, his voice is ragged and small. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault my dad was a homophobic psycho.”

“I know. But it’s my fault that I was a complete asshole about all of this. That I thought that you should just want me, be honored that I wanted to fuck you.” He laughs roughly and rakes his hand through his hair. “Shit.”

Mikey shakes his head and grabs more clothes from the closet, dropping them hangers and all in with the rest of them. “Forget it.”

“No.” Ian reaches out and wraps his hand around Mickey’s forearm. “I can’t forget it. Or apologize for it. I didn’t know what it was like for you with your dad. But I know how Jason made me feel, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like that.”

“It’s cool. Just tell the press whatever. That I was cheating. That I’m not really gay. That you found out I’m a fucking serial killer. I don’t care. Make yourself out to be the hero.”

“I’ll leave you alone from now on. I won’t bring anyone home. I won’t...I swear I won’t go near Jason again.”

“It’s none of my business what you do.”

Ian doesn’t look at him, but his thumb strokes where his hand is still on Mickey’s arm. “I wanted them to be you. All of them. Even him.”

“Don’t...”

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? That I bring them home so I don’t come in here, so I don’t try to convince you to change your mind?”

“It’s just because you can’t have me. All in your head.” Mickey’s voice wavers, and he hates how much he loves Ian’s touch, hates how much he wants Ian to be telling the truth.

Ian laughs humorlessly. “There’s a hell of a lot of shit in my head, but wanting you isn’t because I can’t have you.” He steps closer. The hand on Mickey’s forearm tugs and turns Mickey so he’s facing Ian. Mickey fights to keep his eyes open, but Ian’s stare is like a spotlight, an x-ray exposing every dark and broken spot inside Mickey. “You’re beautiful. Do you know that? Has anyone told you that?”

“Fuck off.”

Ian smiles and cups Mickey’s jaw, his thumb tracing his cheekbone. “You are. I used to watch you walk by. When I was on the couch with Mandy doing homework or whatever? You’d go straight to your room, and I’d stare at you. Dirty and angry and so gorgeous.”

“Ian.”

Mickey doesn’t see Ian move, but the feels the air stir, the warm breath in the instant before Ian kisses him. It’s slow and soft and it isn’t until Mickey willingly parts his lips that Ian’s tongue touches him, explores Mickey’s mouth.

Ian’s hand stays on Mickey’s face and the other slides into the small of Mickey’s back. Mickey’s hands hover in the air until Ian guides him closer then they settle on Ian’s hips. They keep kissing, just kissing. It’s nothing like when they’ve been alone before, collisions and crashing into each other. Ian’s mouth is fitted to Mickey’s moving slowly, surely.

Ian pulls back after what seems like forever, but seems like just a blink. He brushes his lips over Mickey’s one more time. “Okay?”

It’s not okay. It’s too much and not enough, and Mickey’s going to end up in pieces when it all ends. He doesn’t say that though. He puts his hands on either side of Ian’s face, pulling him back into the kiss. It’s not fair or right. Maybe it’s just that he needs something after hearing his dad’s words out loud rather than in his head.

If he’s honest, he knows he just needs Ian.

Ian’s hand slides up Mickey’s back, his fingers setting the nerves on fire. He tilts his head, stealing control of the kiss away from Mickey, taking the control Mickey willingly surrenders. One of them whimpers and one of them moans. Mickey has no idea which sound came from who. All he knows is that Ian’s hands are everywhere, lighting Mickey up. Mickey drops his hands to Ian’s shoulders and then down his arms. They’re tight from holding Mickey, but there’s no tension. Ian’s fingers brush the waistband of Mickey’s boxers, and Mickey reaches back, catching Ian’s wrist. “Did you bring your phone in here?”

“I’m naked,” Ian reminds him, sounding a little surprised. Probably that Mickey had to be reminded.

“Right. Good.” He releases Ian’s wrist and slides his hands back up Ian’s arms. He goes up on his toes and nuzzles Ian’s throat. “Fuck. I want you so much.” Now that he’s decided and given in, all he wants is Ian on him, above him, in him.

Ian groans roughly, pushing his hands inside Mickey’s boxers, grabbing his ass. He groans again as Mickey’s teeth graze his skin. His hands tighten and he presses Mickey tight against him. “Want...fuck, I want to fuck you. So much. So bad.”

“Bad, huh? You saying you’re no good at this?”

Ian runs a finger along the crack of Mickey’s ass. Mickey arches into him, his dick sliding against Ian’s. “Does it feel like I’m no good at this?”

“Size isn’t everything.”

Ian traces his finger around the tight muscle of Mickey’s hole. “Telling me to prove it?”

Mickey licks his lips, arching his back so his dick is hard against Ian’s. “You got a better idea?”

Ian kisses him again, tongue thrusting into Mickey’s mouth, fucking past his lips as he walks Mickey back to the bed. His hands grip Mickey’s ass hard and lift him up, following him down onto the bed, knee between Mickey’s legs. He releases his hold on Mickey’s ass and guides his boxers off him.

Mickey reaches out and runs his fingertips over the hard jut of Ian’s cock. It’s thick and long and Mickey wants it. “I hope like fuck you weren’t kidding about topping.”

Ian spreads Mickey’s legs wide and moves between them. He keeps his eyes locked on Mickey, leaning in and licking a long stripe from Mickey’s knee to his groin. Mickey sucks in a shaky breath as Ian murmurs against his skin. “What do you think?”

“I think you need to get on me.”

Ian bites Mickey’s thigh lightly. “Won’t tell you what to do if you don’t tell me.”

“You...oh shit.” Mickey pants as Ian’s teeth sink in again harder. Ian grinds his teeth together, Mickey’s skin caught between them. Mickey’s heels dig into the mattress and he arches off the bed. “Ho-hol-holy fuck. Oh god.”

Ian releases him and licks, tongue running over the impressions his teeth left. “God, look at you bruise.” Ian growls hotly and bites Mickey again just below the previous one. Mickey moans out loud, thick and desperate. He reaches down and fists his hands in Ian’s hair, pulling him up, crying out when Ian bites him again, his teeth pulling at his skin before he releases Mickey’s thigh.

Ian moves up, biting Mickey’s stomach and chest. He leaves dark circular bruises on Mickey’s abdomen, teeth marks outlining Mickey’s nipples. Mickey doesn’t need to see them to feel them. He keeps pulling hard on Ian’s hair, wanting to feel the full press of Ian’s body, wanting his mouth.

“You want something?” Ian pants against Mickey’s mouth. He can feel the heat of Ian’s scalp under his hands where he’s pulled hard at his hair. 

“You. Christ, Ian. I want you.” Mickey doesn’t care if he sounds desperate, if he’s begging. “Please. Fuck. Please.”

“Have anything?”

Mickey whines deep in his throat. “Bag. Bag. There.”

Ian reaches for it, digging lube and a condom out of it. He drops them on the bed and tosses the bag aside. Popping the cap on the lube, he pours it on his fingers. Mickey’s legs are spread wide and Ian watches Mickey’s face as he strokes his fingers over Mickey’s perineum and down to his hole. Mickey shudders roughly, his mouth open and breath shallow, as Ian’s finger traces the hole then slowly works its way inside. Mickey clenches around him, fighting the intrusion.

“Relax.” Ian nuzzles Mickey’s thigh. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Mickey makes a noise as Ian rubs slowly, just at the edge of the hole, massaging the rim. “Relax.”

“E-easy for you to say.” Mickey’s voice breaks as Ian pushes his finger in slightly further. “F-fuck.”

“You gonna last, Mick?”

Mickey flips him off. Ian laughs and sinks his teeth into Mickey’s untouched thigh. Mickey cries out, his hand falling to fist in the sheets. His brain can’t process anything past the sharp heat of Ian’s bite. When Ian finally releases him, all of Mickey’s nerves are jangling, and it takes a moment to realize Ian has three fingers buried inside him. His free hand rubs at Mickey’s thigh, his thumbnail scraping across the ridges left by his teeth.

“Ian. Ian. Fuck.”

Ian spreads his fingers, working them in and out. Mickey tries to open his legs further and his hip joint pops. He groans roughly as Ian uses the wider space to move in and thrust his fingers deeper. Mickey gets lost in the stretch and burn, in the warring sensations of his thighs throbbing and his dick pulsing as he tightens around Ian’s fingers whenever Ian brings them back together.

Ian kisses the junction of Mickey’s thigh, flicking his tongue along the crease. “Want me?”

“Fucking Christ, yes.” Mickey sounds on the edge to his own ears. He can only imagine how he sounds to Ian. Desperate. Wanton.

Ian bites the tendon leading from Mickey’s thigh to his pelvis and Mickey lifts off the bed, unsure if it’s pain or pleasure. His head is swimming when Ian’s fingers leave him to put on the condom, but he can’t even really respond before Ian’s back against him. His shoulders are wide and his fingers graze the underside of Mickey’s thigh as Ian guides Mickey’s legs back, knees to his shoulders.

He presses closer, guiding Mickey’s legs over his shoulders, and Mickey digs his heels into the muscles of Ian’s broad back. Ian nuzzles Mickey’s stomach and Mickey tenses, waiting for Ian’s teeth. Instead Ian licks his way up Mickey’s chest, his throat. Mickey groans low, the sound falling apart as Ian slowly presses into him.

Mickey can’t breathe. It feels like Ian’s engulfing him as he pushes forward, dick sliding deeper, his shoulders pushing Mickey’s knees higher. He tries to suck in air as Ian looks down at him with dark and hungry eyes, but the sight stops his chest and his heart. Ian’s looking at him like prey, smiling at Mickey like he fully intends to devour him. Ian’s own breathing seems to have stopped and it feels like, for a moment, they’re suspended in time.

And then Ian moves.

He pulls back until just the head of his dick is inside the tight muscle of Mickey’s ass. Mickey barely has time to suck in a breath before Ian snaps his hips forward and fills Mickey again.

“Jesus. You’re so fucking tight. Closed around my dick like a vice.” Ian’s already panting, his hips rocking, his dick sliding almost out then pushing deep. Sweat gathers in the backs of Mickey’s knees, trapped against Ian’s shoulders. 

“G-g-god.” Mickey manages to pant out when Ian pulls back. He’s overwhelmed with sensation, his cock trapped between their stomachs.

“So good.” Ian buries his head against Mickey’s neck, sucking on his throat. “God, so good.”

Mickey’s breath shudders out of him, thin and raspy. He digs his fingernails into Ian’s forearms.

Ian gasps wetly against Mickey’s neck, his hips stuttering before he finds a new rhythm, hard and punishing. He hits Mickey just right and every one of Mickey’s muscles tightens. Ian adjusts his stroke so he hits it with every thrust, and Mickey’s unable to move, unable to do anything more than let out a broken guttural moan.

Ian echoes him, and Mickey can feel the thick pulse of Ian’s orgasm filling him. He whimpers as Ian’s body collapses onto his and his own orgasm coats their stomachs, too much friction, too much sensation.

Ian eases back slowly and Mickey takes a deep gulp of air as Ian pulls out of him. It’s part relief as he unbends and stretches out his legs, and part regret as he loses the fullness of Ian inside him.

Ian flops down next to Mickey and Mickey’s not sure which one of them is breathing harder. “That was...” Ian licks his lips and swallows. “That was worth the wait.”

Mickey nods, not trusting his voice. He’s fairly certain it would crack like he was going through fucking puberty.

“You okay?”

“Mm.”

Ian lifts himself up on one elbow and looks down at Mickey, running his fingers up Mickey’s thigh. “What now, do you think?”

“What do you mean?” Mickey sits up, moving away from Ian’s touch, groaning as his body reacts. “What now what?”

“I don’t know. Just we weren’t having sex and then we did. So...I mean, I just wasn’t sure if it changed anything.”

“Changed how my ass feels.”

“Nice.” Ian climbs off the bed and runs a hand through his hair. Mickey can’t help but look at him, eyes raking down Ian’s chest. Mickey’s come is dried on Ian’s abdomen, and his dick is fucking impressive even just a little while past sex.

“What do you want?” Mickey doesn’t mean to say anything. He means for Ian to walk out so they can pretend this never happened, that he _isn’t_ a complete and utter bitch for Ian.

“I don’t know. I mean, beyond ‘To do that again. A lot’.”

Mickey’s mouth quirks up. “Doesn’t really change anything through, right? Still have a deal. Premiere, gala, break up.”

“Or.”

This time Mickey’s eyebrow lifts. “Or?”

“Well, I like you. I think we like each other. Hanging out. We get along. Have fun, right?”

“Uh, sure. I guess.” Mickey doesn’t like where this is going or, to be more accurate, doesn’t like that he does like where this is going. 

“I mean, when we went out to lunch we talked and stuff. And at your place.”

“Can you, like, sit down? Or put on something less...naked.”

Ian looks down and blushes, the curve of his cheekbones blooming red. “Sorry.” He looks around and grabs Mickey’s discarded boxers, tugging them on. He meets Mickey’s gaze and raises his own eyebrows. “My dick was in your ass and you’re going to give me shit about wearing your boxers?”

“I gave you permission to put your dick in my ass.”

“Really?” Ian rolls his eyes.

Mickey bites his lower lip to keep from smiling. Ian huffs a laugh and crawls up the bed, straddling Mickey and settling on his thighs. “You’d better not have rabies, Jaws.”

“Any foam around my mouth?”

“Foam around your dick.”

Ian grins widely. “See? We get along.”

“Fine. We get along. I’m still not following.”

“Well, what if...” Ian runs his finger over the curve of Mickey’s shoulder. He doesn’t look at Mickey then or when it moves down to his chest, tracing the faint bite mark around his nipple. “We could try dating. For real.”

“You want me to date my fiance.” Mickey can’t help his smirk. “You sure as shit do things backwards, don’t you?”

“That doesn’t sound like a no.”

Mickey rubs a hand over his mouth. “How about we see if we can get through this engagement before we talk about getting serious, huh?”

Ian laughs, loud and ridiculous, smiling at Mickey for a long time without saying anything. Finally, he tilts his head. “Will you do something for me? Or with me, I guess.”

“Depends.” Mickey eyes him warily. “What are you going to do for me?”

Ian rocks forward, dick hardening as it presses to Mickey’s. “Don’t you want to know what I want first?”

“Nope. I want to know what it’s worth to you.” Mickey catches Ian’s hips in his hands. He slides them up Ian’s sides then he curves his fingers under the waistband of the boxers. 

Ian grabs Mickey’s hands and moves them back to the bed, pinning his wrists. “I want you to give me a tour of the center.”

“Why?”

“Because even though I was lucky with my family and Mandy, I still could have used it. If for nothing else than to find kids like me.” Ian releases Mickey’s hands and looks at him intently.

Mickey bends his knees, pulling Ian closer, his ass against Mickey’s dick. “I don’t know if kids would have come back then. It was a whole different world.” He rubs his hands slowly up Ian’s back. “It’s not even closed to finished. They just ended the renovations. It’s all bare bones.”

“How much have you put into it?”

“Actual money or the loans, grands, donations, and straight up begging?”

“Your own money.”

“Not enough. All that I can.” Mickey shrugs. “I’ve been working on it for ten years. Even before my dad died. I was even originally going to call it the ‘Fuck You Terry Milkovich center for LGBT Youth’.”

“That’s a mouthful. Let’s see. The FYTMCFLGBTY”. He shakes his head. “Needs a new acronym.”

Mickey smiles. “Your money’s going to make a huge difference.”

“I could come to the grand opening.”

“Pretty sure that’s going to be a while after our engagement ends. Not sure your press will want you to do that.”

“No hard feelings between us and good PR? There’s nothing not to like.” Ian runs a finger over Mickey’s shoulder again. “Besides, maybe we won’t end things. Mind-blowing sex is worth a lot relationship-wise.”

Mickey closes his eyes as Ian’s fingers drop down to his collarbone. “Weren’t we fighting two hours ago?”

“You were in a fit of jealous rage.”

Mickey’s eyebrow goes up to his hairline, but his eyes stay closed, reveling in Ian’s touch. “Fuck off.”

“Hey, I’m a fan of make-up sex.”

“It can’t be make-up sex if we haven’t had sex before.”

“Making up for lost time then.” Ian’s laugh dances across Mickey’s neck. “Want to fuck you again.”

Mickey groans, splaying his hands over Ian’s back, rubbing his palms against the smooth skin. “Got a better idea.”

“There’s a better idea than that?”

Mickey tightens his grip and rolls them over. He braces himself over Ian and strokes one hand down Ian’s chest, his abdomen. Catching the boxers, he eases them down over Ian’s dick.

“Liking it so far.” 

Mickey snorts a quick laugh. “I aim to please.”

Ian smiles at him, and it’s as wide and bright as his public smile, but it’s different. Softer. More real. “I’m excited to see your aim. Always heard Mickey Milkovich was a crack shot.”

“You aim for the crack.” Mickey moves back on his knees, sliding his tongue through the sprinkle of red hair from Ian’s navel to the hard jut of his cock. “Got the target in my sights.” Ian groans when Mickey’s tongue grazes the head of his dick. “Think I can get a bulls-eye?”

Mickey doesn’t give Ian a chance to answer before he takes him in his mouth. Ian’s dick tastes like come, like heat, like the lingering chemical hint of a condom. It doesn’t take long though until he just tastes like Ian. He fills Mickey’s mouth, stretches his lips tight. Mickey sucks Ian down by inches, taking him in his mouth the same way Ian would work into his ass.

He watches Ian through his lashes, watching his back arch, watching his hands fist, watching his mouth fall open. Mickey’s chin brushes Ian’s balls and Ian makes a noise, something between a whimper and a moan.

Mickey opens his mouth wider, as wide as he can, not thinking so the anticipation of Ian’s dick against the back of his throat doesn’t trigger the instinct to gag. Ian is long and thick, and Mickey’s not sure he can take all of him, but he wants to feel Ian’s balls as the saliva from his mouth coats them, wants to bury his nose in Ian’s pubic hair while he sucks Ian’s dick.

Ian’s hips rock up slowly as Mickey swallows him down. He can feel the softness of the head of Ian’s dick brush the sensitive back of his throat, feel the hot pulse press down on his tongue. 

“J-Jesus,” Ian gasps. “Y-yes. Oh, yes.”

Mickey swallows, pressing his tongue up, rubbing it against the underside of Ian’s cock, holding him tight against the roof of his mouth. Ian’s back arches off the bed, his hips rocking up, trying to thrust. Mickey holds them down, holds him down and Ian makes a gasping noise, one hand fisting in the sheets and the other tugging hard at Mickey’s hair.

Mickey pulls off and Ian whimpers. “Don’t _stop_.”

Mickey’s laugh vibrates along Ian’s shaft as he takes him deep again, loosening his grip so Ian can thrust. He does, hips fucking upward. Mickey wraps a hand around the base of Ian’s dick, keeping him from going too deep, fingers tight enough to stave off Ian’s orgasm.

Thick moans fall out of Ian’s mouth, wordless and helpless. The pounding rhythm of Ian’s thrusts make Mickey’s hand connect with his mouth, a sloppy smacking sound every time.

Ian’s fists slam down on the bed and he comes, deep and hot at the back of Mickey’s throat. Mickey swallows, working Ian’s cock until Ian’s begging and pushing Mickey away. He pulls off Ian with a filthy wet pop, stroking his hand up Ian’s dick rather than just releasing him.

Ian’s whole body shudders with over-stimulation and he’s still shaking when Mickey sits up, kneeling between Ian’s legs. He rests his hands lightly on Ian’s thighs, grounding him. Ian’s eyes are closed, his mouth open, his chest heaving.

Mickey licks his lips, unable to help his smile. “You okay, Gallagher?” His voice is thick, rough. Ian shudders again and nods. “You sure? You don’t look okay.”

Ian flips him off, and it looks like even that small movement takes too much effort.

“Take it that means I’m finishing myself off?”

Ian cracks one eye open, his gaze falling to Mickey’s hard on. “No more bones.”

“No more boner you mean.” He moves, straddling Ian’s thigh. “Wanna help? Or am I doing all the work here?”

Mickey braces himself over Ian, lowering himself enough to rub his dick against Ian’s thigh. The hair there is some strange combination of soft and wiry, and it feels fucking amazing on Mickey’s cock. He’s already close to the edge from taking Ian apart, so it doesn’t take much before he’s coming hard, hips jerking.

He slumps down, half on Ian, his head on the mattress. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. P-pretty sure I found god too.” Ian runs his fingers lightly up Mickey’s back, making Mickey shiver. 

“Think ‘do that again a lot’ is a solid plan,” Mickey murmurs, making Ian laugh. His hands keep moving along Mickey’s spine and Mickey closes his eyes and loses himself in the gentle stroke.

“Gotta go into work in a couple of hours.” Ian brushes a kiss against Mickey’s shoulder.

“When do location shoots start?” He’s breathing against Ian’s neck, and Ian smells like sweat. Mickey darts his tongue out, flicking it against Ian’s skin, tasting salt. Ian groans softly and the sound rumbles deep in his chest. “Fly out on Thursday.”

“Mm.” Mickey nuzzled where he licked. “So we have a chance to do this a few more times.”

“At least a few dozen more.”

Mickey laughs and eases back, his body sticking to Ian’s for a moment. “We do both have jobs, you know.”

Ian catches Mickey’s hips and keeps him from moving away. “I have great faith in both of us.” He lets Mickey go when he laughs.

“Trust me, now that I’ve had a literal taste of your cock, I’m hooked.” Mickey stretches, watching Ian watch him. “I’m going to shower.”

“I wouldn’t advise it.” Ian sits up, back against the headboard. “Because I fully intend to mess you up at least once more before I have to leave.”

“You do, huh?”

“I’ve taken it on as a vow. A moral imperative.”

“Wow. I’m that good, huh?” Mickey raises an eyebrow and grins at Ian.

“Well, you’re not _bad_.”

“Not bad.” Mickey smirks and moves directly over Ian, bracing himself. “Admit it, Hollywood. I just gave you the best blow job of your life.”

“It was in the top ten.” Ian scrunches his face like he’s thinking. “Top five.”

“Groupies are that good?”

“I think groupies are just for musicians.” Ian traces a finger down Mickey’s chest. “Want me to make breakfast?”

“Are you a decent cook?”

“Breakfast I can do.”

“You don’t think we should shower first though.”

“California’s having a drought. Just grab a washcloth.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Seriously?” Ian laughs, his face the image of disbelief. “Veronica Ball called you the dirtiest white boy in America.”

“That was dirt, not jizz.”

“Then get us a damn washcloth, GQ.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and climbs off the bed. Ian flicks Mickey’s ass with his finger, and Mickey looks back over his shoulder at him. “You wanna go there?”

Ian hums. “You’ve got the perfect ass for spanking.”

Mickey goes into the bathroom, shaking his head. He looks at himself in the mirror and there are dark bruises and bite marks all over his neck and chest. His breath catches as he traces one of them. He’s no stranger to bruises, but these are some of the first ones he’s actually wanted, begged for.

He grabs two of the washcloths off the shelf and wets them, wringing one out and leaving the other one fairly wet. He walks back into the bedroom and tosses the wet one onto Ian’s chest, grinning as it lands with a splat.

“You’re an asshole,” Ian says in a sing-song voice.

“Bonafide, certified, and notarized.” Mickey cleans himself off as Ian does as well. He throws the same pair of boxers at Ian and grabs another pair for himself. 

Ian makes a decent omelet. Breakfast actually goes by quickly with Ian making jokes and teasing Mickey relentlessly. Ian looks up at the clock and frowns. “Okay, if we’re going to go for round three, we’d better get a move on.”

“Are you serious right now?”

Ian looks at Mickey intently. “I never joke about sex.” He ruins the moment when his mouth quirks and then he starts laughing. 

Mickey grins and flips him off. “Just for that, I’m going to do the dishes. And take my time.” Mickey gets off the stool and starts to walk toward the sink. Ian’s hand snakes out and grabs Mickey’s arm, pulling him between Ian’s legs as he swivels his chair.

“You sure about that?”

“I never joke about depriving smartasses of sex.”

“You sure about that?” Ian uses the hand not holding Mickey’s arm to reach out and grab Mickey’s nipple in something between a pinch and a tweak. Mickey groans and moves in, sucking Ian’s lower lip into his mouth before letting it melt into a kiss. Ian moves his hands to Mickey’s hips, pulling him closer so Mickey can feel Ian’s erection. 

“Bedroom. Pretty sure we should go to the bedroom.”

“I could just bend you over the counter. Take you right here.”

“Next time maybe you’ll be smart enough to bring the supplies with you.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch.” Ian kisses Mickey breathless then pulls back. “I don’t see you with a handy supply of condoms.”

“I’ve got plenty in my room.”

“Right.” Ian slides to his feet, body pressed hard against Mickey’s. “So why are we still in here?”

**

“You’re taking that?” Mickey’s fresh from the shower, his hair still damp and only finger-combed. He’s shirtless and his back is still sprinkled with water droplets. His sweats are slung low on his hips and he wriggles closer to Ian’s bag. “Really?”

“You have no right to give sartorial advice, buddy. I’ve seen some of the shit in your closet. And I will laugh in your fucking face if you try to tell me that Hawaiian shirt is ironic.”

“Fuck no. That’s a fucking awesome shirt.”

“Thank you for proving my point so succinctly.”

“Big words. That in your script or something? Google word of the day?” Ian reaches over and ruffles Mickey’s damp hair. Mickey bats his hand away, so Ian does it again with both hands. “Fuck off with that, dude. You’re messing with my aesthetic.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

Mickey flips him off before crossing his arms and resting his head on them. “Do we really have to go to this thing?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanna.”

Ian laughs and walks around the bed, crawling up along Mickey’s legs. He licks the dimples of Mickey’s back then kisses at the waistband of his sweats. “My last day in town, so the last event for a while.” He runs his tongue up Mickey’s spine then kisses his way back down.

“That’s why I don’t want to go. Your last day home.” He starts to turn over, but Ian plants his hand in the middle of Mickey’s back. “Hey.”

“Don’t move.”

“Why not?” Mickey turns his head and Ian rolls his eyes. “What?”

“You won’t do anything someone else tells you to do, will you?”

“I like to know why I’m doing what I’m doing.”

“Because I want you to and you trust me and you know you’ll get something good out of it.”

“Unless you’ve lulled me into a false sense of complacency.”

“Mickey?”

He bites back a smile. “Yeah?”

“Shut up and don’t move, asshole.”

Mickey snorts a laugh and Ian pushes against his back, holding Mickey down. He keeps his head cushioned on his arms, forehead against them as Ian’s tongue slips along his spine again. His fingers trail down Mickey’s sides and slip under the waistband of his sweats. 

“Hips up.” 

“Lie still. Hips up. Make up your fucking mind, Gallagher.” Mickey does as he’s told, biting his lip to keep from smiling. Ian tugs at Mickey’s sweats, pulling them down. The fabric catches on Mickey’s hardening cock, and Ian reaches beneath him, squeezing Mickey lightly before easing the fabric over his dick.

“Keep them up.” Ian’s voice is low and full of promise. When Mickey doesn’t say anything, Ian flicks his tongue at the base of Mickey’s spine right over his tailbone.

Mickey’s breath catches, and he can feel Ian’s smirk against his skin. “What...” Mickey licks his lips. “What are you doing?”

“Thanking you.” Ian nuzzles at the curve of Mickey’s ass. “In advance.”

Mickey’s breath hitches again. “Th-that so?”

Ian’s hands cup Mickey’s ass, squeezing lightly before his thumbs spread the skin. “Fuck. I swear your ass is fucking perfect.”

“Not sure there’s anywhere that flattery can get you.”

“Don’t worry. I’m right where I want to be,” Ian assures him, sliding his tongue along the crack of Mickey’s ass. Mickey groans softly, his back arching. Ian huffs a breath, feathering it over Mickey’s hole. Mickey bites his forearm to keep silent as Ian continues to breathe against him.

Mickey can’t seem to get air in his lungs, and any hope of keeping quiet is gone when the flat of Ian’s tongue runs from Mickey’s perineum to his hole. Mickey’s whine comes from deep in his throat. “Jesus. Jesus, Ian.”

Ian uses the tip of his tongue to trace the tight muscle. He spreads Mickey’s ass further and his nose settles against Mickey, and his breath makes Mickey shiver as it hits the skin as Ian licks it. Ian traces the muscle again, pressing his tongue against it. Mickey’s whole body shakes as he tries to breathe, barely managing a shallow gasp.

“Okay?” Ian asks, not even bothering to pull away. The word vibrates, hums against Mickey’s skin and he makes a noise. He’s not sure what it is or what it means, other than Ian’s tongue is on his hole again, rubbing and licking, flickering and pressing. He teases Mickey, never settling on a rhythm, and Mickey arches his back, ass higher in the air.

Mickey can’t manage a ‘yes’ or a ‘please’ or a ‘more’, but Ian understands his body language, knowing Mickey after just a few days. Ian’s hand squeezes harder, his fingers digging into the firm but giving flesh, hard enough that Mickey will still have bruises on his ass that he can touch and press on while Ian’s gone.

Ian’s tongue pushes inside Mickey, the tip pointed until it breaches him and then it flattens. White heat burns through Mickey’s vision, and another helpless noise falls from his mouth. It’s a random stroke, a lick, a thrust, and Mickey’s trembling, falling apart at the seams. Ian’s saliva slides along Mickey’s perineum to his balls, wet and hot like Ian’s mouth.

Ian hums and Mickey’s cock throbs, and it’s only then Mickey feels the sticky trail of precome decorating his stomach. Now that he’s aware of it, he wants to touch himself, but the impulse, along with everything besides the most basic part of his brain short-circuits as Ian sucks at Mickey’s hole, teeth grazing and teasing over the sensitive skin.

Mickey can taste the coppery tang of blood as he bites harder at his arm, breaking the skin. His body is on autopilot – breathe, moan, feel – as Ian’s mouth pulls away. Mickey whines desperately, needing and begging.

“Gorgeous,” Ian murmurs, his voice wrecked. His teeth scrape over the curve of Mickey’s ass and then they sink in. Mickey feels heat, but even that’s washed away as Ian moves against him, gone from touching Mickey for an instant and then pushing, thrusting, filling Mickey up.

There’s a sound and Ian’s body is draped against Mickey’s. His arms are bracing him, muscles bunched against Mickey’s and sweat pooling between them. 

“So wet. So tight.” Ian rasps. He thrusts slowly. He never pulls back, never moves away. He simply rocks forward so he continually fills Mickey up. “Jesus, Mick. Take me so fucking good.”

Mickey makes another noise, his brain managing to file away that those broken, begging, incoherent noises are him.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Ian’s panting with breath like fire on the back of Mickey’s neck. He moves back and grabs Mickey’s hips finally – oh god, fucking finally – moving, thrusting, nailing Mickey, his pelvis slamming into Mickey’s ass.

Ian’s not talking now, too busy making noises as abandoned as Mickey’s, both of them in a harmony of animal instinct as Ian holds himself against Mickey like he’s trying to get deeper, like he wants to bury his come so deep inside Mickey it’ll be there forever.

Mickey’s arms and knees give out, and he falls flat on the bed. The wet sheets are cold against his overheated skin. Ian pulls out and Mickey’s suddenly, empty, alone, fucking bereft. Then Ian’s on top of him again, too hot and just right all at once.

“In fuckin’ love with your dick,” Mickey finally manages to force out, his voice a rough whisper.

“’s pretty fucking fond of you.” Ian’s face is buried against Mickey’s throat, breathing still uneven.

Mickey closes his eyes, shivering as Ian’s fingers brush over the bite mark on Mickey’s forearm. Mickey shakes his head slightly. “’s okay.” Ian’s hand is big, fingers long. Mickey turns his head toward them. 

“Remind me next time to thank you after,” Ian presses his fingers to Mickey’s lips and traces them. “Because the thought of moving, much less being in public, is fucking awful.”

“We could not go.”

“Gotta go.”

Mickey groans. “Need ‘nother shower.”

Ian shakes his head and kisses him. “In a few more minutes.”

**

They’re not late, but they’re not exactly on time either. Fortunately Kevin’s call woke them up with enough time for them to shower and dress. They both look slightly disheveled, but Mickey thinks they pull it off pretty well. He hears variations on the phrases ‘lovebirds’ and ‘looks like they’re already newlyweds’ enough that it seems likely.

They’re nearly at the end of the carpet when Mickey gets a microphone shoved in his face. Only Ian’s hand tightening on his – when did Ian start holding his hand and how did Mickey not _notice_? - keeps him from decking the guy holding it. When he sees it’s Jason’s brother Joe, he’s tempted to do it anyway.

“So, Mickey. This will be Ian’s first location shoot since the official engagement announcement. Are you worried about a co-star love affair?”

“No.”

Joe waits for something else, but Mickey just looks at him with one eyebrow raised. Joe finally recovers and turns to Ian. “What about you, Ian? Are you worried that, now that you’re engaged to a man, people won’t buy you as a heterosexual romantic lead?”

“No.” Ian grins at Mickey then relents. “I’ve been up front and open about my sexuality since I started. Being engaged to Mickey doesn’t actually make me more gay. The people who can’t see past that don’t care if I’m celibate or sexually active. And, let’s be honest, Hollywood has a long and glorious tradition of gay and bisexual men playing heterosexual romantic leads. The only difference is that I’m actually able to be honest about it.”

He squeezes Mickey’s hand and they walk off. Mickey glances back quickly. “That guy’s a fucking asshole.”

“His face when you answered him.” Ian laughs loud enough that people turn to look. “Wanted to jump  
you right then and there.”

“Exhibitionist, huh?”

“Come on.” He tugs Mickey inside the venue.

“Aren't they supposed to just let you out the back door? I swear I read that somewhere.”

“Quit your bitching.”

“Can we at least sit in the back row and make out?”

Ian pushes Mickey into an aisle. “Sit, please?” He leans in close. “I already said thank you.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and settles in a seat. “Does it always have to be serious, arty films?”

“Oscar season. Now hush.”

Mickey hunches down in his chair, closing his eyes. Ian elbows him, but Mickey doesn't move. About a  
half hour into the film, he feels Ian tense. Cracking open one eye, he turns his head and sees Jason  
sitting next to Ian, leaning in and talking to him.

He's ignoring Mickey, pretending like he's not there, or maybe knowing that Ian won't let Mickey make  
a scene. Jason slides his hand onto Ian's thigh and Ian squirms in his chair as Jason moves it higher.  
Mickey turns his attention back to the film, not looking in Jason's direction at all as he reaches over,  
grabs Jason's middle and pointer finger, snapping them back with a quick, sharp, easy movement.

Jason gasps, grimacing in pain as he pulls his hand back onto his own lap, When Mickey looks over,  
Jason's staring at him. His face is livid, red with pain. He leans across Ian and hisses at Mickey: “I'm  
going to make you regret that and I'm going to make sure you end up back in the gutter you came  
from.”

Mickey smiles and he knows it's challenging. “Bring it. But I play by south side rules.”

Jason smirks. “I don't play by _any_ rules.” He slips out of the aisle and disappears, holding  
his left hand close to his chest. Mickey glances at Ian who is staring straight ahead with a smile on his  
face. Without thinking about it at all, Mickey reaches over and laces his fingers with Ian's.

“Should I be worried?” Ian whispers.

Mickey brings their joined hands to his mouth and presses his lips softly against Ian's fingers. “No.”

**

Mickey is not counting.

No matter what Mandy says.

“You couldn't wait for him to go, but now you're boning him and missing him and pining and it's kind  
of fucking disgusting.”

“Fuck off. I'm not fucking pining.”

“I bet you sleep in his bed. On the pillow he uses. I bet you smell it. I bet you use his shampoo and  
shit so you'll smell like him.”

“You're a bitch.”

“Ha! I knew it! You're in love with him.”

“I am not.”

“You are. Mickey Milkovich, the big bad of Canaryville is in loooooove.”

He flips Mandy off. “Fuck. And you.”

“Do you guys have phone sex? I bet he's good at phone sex.”

“Don't say shit like that. Christ, Mandy.”

“Oh my god, you're _blushing_.” She starts laughing, and Mickey can't tell if it's at the situation or at him. “So do you? Or do you just want to?”

“I am not discussing my sex life with you.”

She leans back in her chair and claps, kicking her feet. “I am fucking traumatized and scarred for  
fucking life, but I'm happy for you, Mick.”

“It's temporary.”

“Doesn't have to be.” She's looking at him seriously now. “You guys are good together. You actually  
look happy instead of actively miserable.”

“It's sex, Mandy. Really good sex. That's it.”

“I don't believe that.”

“Don't give a shit what you believe. That's what it is. That's all it is.”

“If I called Ian and asked him, would he say the same thing?”

Mickey smiles and he's sure the tightness of his expression gives him away. Mandy knows him too  
damn well. “Yes. Yes, he would.”

**

Mickey almost doesn't answer the phone the next time Ian calls, Mandy's taunts ringing in his ears. In  
the end though he knows there's no way he's not going to catch it before it goes to voice mail. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He can hear the smile in Ian's voice. “What are you wearing?”

“High heels and a furry suit.”

“God, you get me so hot.”

“Good, huh?”

“Not quite as good as the juggalo make-up and the lederhosen, but close.” He laughs quietly for a  
moment. “Hey.”

It's Mickey's turn to smile, something he has no desire to name or recognize in his chest at the soft  
change in Ian's voice. “Any changes to life in Montana?”

“Nope. The same. Buffalo roam. Skies are not cloudy all day. How's Hollywood?” 

“I'm surprised you haven't heard. I'm the next hot thing. Have my own reality TV show and  
everything.”

“You are not.” Ian's voice changes again. “You in bed?”

“Nah. Takin' a shit.”

“Seriously, your dirty talk is off-the-charts sexy.”

Mickey laughs, his own voice quiet. “Yeah. I'm in bed.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah.”

“I like you in my bed.”

“I like it better when you're here too.”

“So do I.” Ian hums. “Still have those bruises?”

Mickey presses on his hip. “Yeah.”

“Pressing on them? Imagining my fingers?”

Mickey rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Mm. Not as good as you.”

“I'd make them darker. Mark you up.” They're both quiet for a moment, and Mickey tries to imagine  
what Ian's thinking. “What should I do to you tonight? What do you want? My mouth? My fingers? My  
cock?”

“I want...” Mickey swallows hard. This isn't really who he is, but he's been thinking about it for two  
weeks now, two weeks of Ian's voice getting him off. “Want to straddle you.”

“O-oh.” Ian's voice stutters slightly as if he realizes what Mickey's doing. 

“Uh-huh. On my knees. O-over you. Want to...” He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Want you to  
watch me prep myself. Fi-finger myself. Want you to see me when the first one goes in. That first push.  
Pressure and just enough pain that it feels so good. So fucking good. Watch your eyes dilate when I  
work it deeper.”

Ian breathes a soft groan. “Jesus, Mickey.”

“Get it nice and deep, slick with lube so the second finger goes in easier. Spreads me just...just a little  
more. Bite my lips red and swollen while you watch me fuck myself. Watch me spread my fingers,  
scissor them. Have to, fuck, need to be ready for you. Need to take all of you inside me.”

Ian's breathing unsteadily and Mickey's not sure if he can actually hear the slap of skin on skin or if he's  
just picturing it. 

“God,” Mickey gasps. “Three fi-fingers now.”

“Christ,” Ian whispers hoarsely. “Are, fuck, are you fucking yourself right now?”

“Three fingers. Stretch and,” he gasps. “G-god Spread Fuck, Ian. You...you hard for me?”

“So fucking hard, want, Jesus, want you on me, around me. G-god, Mick. Please.”

Mickey fights for air as he pushes his fingers deeper and spreads them as wide as he can. He fumbles  
for the dildo he'd set on the bed, replacing his fingers with the toy slowly, matching his words to the  
action. “Sink down, fuck sink down on you so slow, feel you inch by inch. I-ian.”

His cock is aching, but he's holding the phone tightly in one hand and working the dildo with the other.  
He's afraid to try to put Ian on speaker, afraid he'll fuck up and lose the call. He's breathing roughly,  
gasping, panting as he listens to Ian groan.

“So tight. Bet you're still so tight.”

Mickey clenches around the dildo and moans, leaving it deep inside him while he grabs his dick. 

“Touch me. N-” He licks his lips and swallows to wet his dry throat. “Need you to touch me, Ian. Need  
to fuck your hand like I'm fucking myself with your cock.”

He starts jerking himself off when Ian doesn't respond, when all he can hear is labored breathing. The  
dildo isn't Ian and his hand isn't Ian, but he has Ian in his ear, in his head. Ian gives a low grunt as he  
comes, and just the sound is enough to push Mickey over the edge.

It takes a few minutes before Ian speaks. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Not so bad yourself.”

Ian hums softly. “Early shoot tomorrow. Then night shoots. Won't get to talk much. But I'll call when I  
can.”

“Okay.” Mickey's exhale is almost a sigh. “Night.”

“Night, Mick.”

**

Mickey focuses on work and on the center, watching in fascination as what he always thought was an  
impossible dream becomes reality. He sends emails to Ian with pictures and progress updates, but the  
replies slowly turn into generic responses. Mickey knows Ian's busy, so he doesn't give him a hard time  
about it. He sends two messages in two days and doesn't get any response at all. He wants to ask Ian  
what's wrong, but he's not sure he really wants to know. He knows enough. He knows whatever it is  
means that ‘out of sight out of mind’ won out over 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. 

He thinks about calling Ian or texting him, but the increasingly strong possibility that Ian won't  
answer keeps him from doing it. The first month and a half passes, and it's been over two weeks since  
Mickey's heard from Ian. Mickey's managed to get all of his stuff but his clothes and his  
laptop packed up, because he's an idiot, but he's not a complete imbecile.

He's at work when he finally gets an email from Ian. There's a photo attachment and Mickey opens it,  
expecting to see Ian in dusty cowboy gear and not caring that it's been so long. Instead he doesn't even  
notice Ian's clothing, since he can't really see it in the distance. All he sees is Ian at a table, leaning in  
with his head tilted, listening and laughing at whatever Jason's said.

Another one comes through after that and another, each one more intimate. Mickey gets up from his  
desk after the fifth one – Ian and Jason kissing – and he's sick to his stomach. “Mandy? I've got to go.”

“Okay.” She waves at him and then looks up, obviously catching something from his voice. “Jesus,  
Mick. You okay? You're as white as a sheet.”

“Yeah. Just a little upset...” He shakes his head and darts to the bathroom, losing his breakfast and  
lunch. He gags long after he's lost everything in his stomach, eventually down to just painful dry  
heaves. 

Mandy knocks on the door. “You okay? I'm going to call you a cab to take you home.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Thanks, Mandy.” The thought of going back to Ian's house makes Mickey's stomach  
twist. He stays in the bathroom until Mandy knocks and tells him the cab is outside. Mandy's already  
given the driver the address and the fare, and has probably warned the driver to leave Mickey alone.

They get to Ian's too quickly and Mickey's tempted to ask the driver to wait while he grabs his stuff, but  
if he goes home, he'll have to explain it all to Mandy, and he feels like the sympathy will just finish  
him off. He lets himself inside and goes directly to Ian's bedroom and shuts the door. He goes to the guest  
room and packs the last of his things, moving them all to the entryway. He stands there staring at them  
until they become a blur in his vision.

He goes back to the room, his room, the guest room, and strips the bed. He washes the sheets and the towels, replacing them when they're dry, remaking the bed. Everything is exactly like it was at the start.

Except him.

**

He changes the settings so that all of Ian's emails go directly to his trash folder. Maybe there aren't any more. He doesn't look. He's moved to a motel, and he's convinced Mandy that he's recovering from the flu. Maybe she's suspicious. He can't bring himself to actually care.

“Are you excited?”

“Hmm?” Mickey looks up from his computer. “Excited?”

“Ian's coming home tomorrow. Do you have a big night of welcome home sex planned? That's  
probably what you need to feel better. Sweat the last of the flu out.”

“Yeah.” Mickey smiles and he knows it's nothing more than the ghost of one. “All stocked up on  
supplies.” He winks. “Gonna take tomorrow off.”

“Are you picking him up?”

“No. Studio has a car for that.”

“Take the day after that off too. Give you a recovery period.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Yeah. I can hold the fort.”

“Thanks.”

“What else are amazing little sisters you now owe a favor to for?”

Mickey laughs and goes back to his computer, pretending to read what's in front of him.

**

He gets drunk.

By the end of the night he's had enough alcohol that he can almost forget Ian's coming home – coming  
back – tomorrow. Except he can't sleep. When he closes his eyes Ian is there lingering just at the edge  
of his consciousness.

He drinks more, enough that he eventually passes out and, if he dreams, he doesn't remember it. He  
wakes up feeling like his head is roughly the size of Canada and with the sure knowledge he's going to throw up again. There's nothing in his stomach, so it's mostly dry heaving after all the liquor. He rests his head  
on the side of the tub and prays for death.

His phone rings instead.

He staggers into the room and looks down at the caller ID. He sees Kevin's name and turns the phone  
off then spins quickly and throws it, watching it shatter against the wall. He shoves his bare feet into his shoes and strips down to a take top before grabbing his key and wallet before heading down the street to a store to buy booze. He's not picky. He wants cheap, hard rot-gut to remind himself of who he is, where he  
comes from. The booze smells like the memory of Terry, and if he still cared, he'd probably feel like  
Frank Gallagher walking down the street in a white undershirt and filthy pants while drinking straight  
from the bottle.

Fortunately he doesn't care.

He drinks until it gets to be too hard, and then he just stares at the ceiling, picking out shapes in the  
spackled texture.

It's two the next afternoon when he wakes up or regains consciousness. He's not sure which. He takes a shower and puts on clean clothes, not bothering to shave or do more than finger comb his hair. Ordering pizza would be easier, but he's craving protein. He squints against the too-bright sun and makes a mental note to pick up something for his headache after finding a restaurant to gorge himself on eggs, bacon, pancakes and coffee.

He's mostly human by the time he gets to work the next day, starting a pot of coffee while he's finishing  
the drink he picked up at the coffee place near his motel. While it's brewing he goes to his laptop and  
immediately deletes any emails from Mandy or Kevin. He's into his third cup when Mandy shows up. 

She looks at him and then the kitchen, getting herself a coffee before going to her desk. “How's Ian?”

“Don't.” Mickey doesn't look at her. “I'm sure Ian's peachy-fucking-keen. You'd have to ask him. None  
of my business anymore.”

“Mickey.”

He turns to look at her and she flinches. “We got the Addison grant.”

“That's awesome.”

“It'll cover the rest of the construction. We'll have to delay staffing and the opening. I'm waiting to hear  
back from the Duncan request.”

“What's the time frame on that one?”

“Should know in the next week or two.”

“What will that do for us?”

“Pretty much nothing.” Mickey shrugs. “Except it's better than nothing.”

“I'm sure he'll still pay you. You could talk to him.” Mandy looks like she's going to say something  
else and Mickey shakes his head.

“You do what you think you should do. I'm done.”

“Mick.”

“He's fucking someone else, Mandy. He stopped communicating with me until he sent me pictures of  
the two of them. So don't tell me it's going to be okay. Don't tell me that he gives a shit about me or my  
causes. This whole thing was a fucking joke from the start. I'm so stupid and gullible. I know it. So  
don't, okay?”

She nods and Mickey goes back to his computer. He knows she's looking at him like there might be  
something else. She finally breaks the silence. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“It's my fault.”

“Yeah? You made him go back to his ex?”

“No. I...We were talking. Ian and I. About the plan. And...and I suggested you, I knew he had a thing  
for you, and I thought...”

“You set us up?” Mickey laughs roughly. “Of course you did.”

“I didn't think that...”

“It's fine. You couldn't know he would...” He shakes his head. “It's over. Doesn't matter anymore.”

“I'll stop seeing Kevin.”

“You're dating his manager?” He laughs again, and at least there's humor in it this time. “Of course you  
are. Don't break up with him because of this, me. Be happy. Somebody should be.”

“Mick...”

“I'm fine, Mandy. Promise.”

She nods and goes back to work, placing workers and calling them. Mickey scrolls through established  
grants and adjusts his requests to fit the businesses he's targeting. He fills out another loan  
application, knowing it's in vain. He's maxed out his credit on business loans for this business and  
what more he could get from non-profit funding for the center but he has to try. He's worked too hard for this to give up, even though he knows he's at the point he’ll have to find somewhere cheaper to live,  
probably have to sell the business and hope he gets enough for it, hope the new owners will keep him  
on as an employee.

He rakes his hands through his hair, bracketing his head with them. “I'm going to go for a walk.”

Mandy looks up at him, her expression worried. “You should just go take a little more time off.”

“Need to keep busy. Can't afford to stay drunk.” He tries to smile, but he knows it comes out as more  
of a grimace. “We'll need to sit down and talk about the future. You free tonight?”

“I can be.”

“Don't change your plans. There's not really any rush.” He shrugs. “I won't be out long.” He heads for  
the door as it opens. Mickey stops, frozen when he comes face to face with Ian. “Mandy's over there.” 

His voice is strained. “Excuse me.”

“I'm here to see you.”

“Here I am.” He holds out his arms and spins around. “And here I go.” He walks past Ian, unable to  
breathe when Ian catches his arm. 

“You moved out.”

“Your observation skills are fucking amazing. Let me go.”

“We have an agreement.”

“The premiere's in a month. I'll be there.”

“Mick.”

He jerks his arm free of Ian's grip. “You've got plenty to keep you busy. So do I. Let Mandy know all  
the details. I'll do my job.”

“I thought...”

“Well, I thought you weren't fucking Jason anymore, so I guess we were both wrong, weren't we?”

“You...know?”

“Give me a fucking break. You sent the fucking emails.” He hates the break in his voice. “But it's good  
to know you didn't...what? Expect me to look at them? Or maybe you think I'm a Milkovich so I'm too  
fucking stupid to know what they mean?”

“I didn’t send-” Ian cuts himself off.

“You like being told what to do, right? So go the fuck away.” He shoves past him and walks away  
quickly, not that he expects Ian to follow. He stops in a convenience store and buys a too-expensive  
pack of shit cigarettes and a lighter. He ducks into an alley, slumping against the wall and slamming his  
head back. His eyes sting and he blinks back tears. He stands there chain-smoking his way through  
half of the pack. He's not used to the nicotine anymore, and it burns his throat and lungs. He grinds  
the last butt against the cement under his shoe.

He takes a deep breath and pushes off the wall, heading back to the office. His shoulders hunch and he  
keeps his eyes down. He pauses outside the office and takes a deep breath, bracing himself in case Ian's  
still inside. The door feels heavy in his hand. He can't go through with what he's promised. Can't  
pretend to love Ian knowing that it's all one big joke, and the joke's on him. He should go to the bank and give up, give in. One more abandoned building in Canaryville. One more abandoned dream in  
the south side won't even be noticed.

He walks inside and looks around. Mandy's at her desk focusing on her computer. “He gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He sits at his desk and picks up his pen, tapping it against the wood. Mandy's quiet for a  
minute then she snaps at him.

“Fucking stop it.”

“Sorry.” He puts the pen down and bites his lower lip. “I'm going to go to Chicago.”

“What?”

“I'm going to go back to Chicago for a while.” He stares down at the desk. “Go see if the building's in  
good shape so I can sell it.”

“Sell it? What are you talking about?”

“This is over, Mandy. It was a stupid idea to begin with. To think I could do something like this.”

“It's not stupid. It's _important_. Don't pull this shit. He fucked up. Not you.”

“Mandy this isn't going to happen. I've taken out every loan I can. Maxed out every credit card I've got,  
gotten every grant I can beg for. It was a fucking pipe dream, and the sooner I realize that, the better  
chance I have to only be in debt until I die instead of for the rest of time.”

“We're still doing the gala. We're still going to raise a shitload of money for the center.” She shakes her  
head. “One night of pretending to still like him isn't too much for that is it?”

“No. No, It's not too much.” Mickey smiles at her. “Guess whoring comes just as easily to the south  
side as it does to Hollywood, right?”

“You're not a whore.”

“Yeah. I am.” He laughs. “Made my bed, so I'll lie in it.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't...don't apologize, okay? Please. I can't hear it again. Just talk to your boyfriend and find out  
what we need to do.” Mandy nods and Mickey tries to focus on his work, setting up jobs and emailing  
his temps. They're all more than willing to work, to get in Mickey's good graces now that he's with Ian, like he has some sort of Hollywood influence. He'd laugh if any of it were actually funny.

**

At the end of the week a box from the store Kevin had taken him to shows up. Mickey opens it and  
stares at the tux. Mandy comes over and looks as well as whistles. “Wow, that is...”

“Hopefully a loaner. Not like I'm ever going to use it again.” He puts the lid on the box then shoves it  
beneath his desk. “You might as well tell me the plan.”

“Kevin and Ian will pick us up at the apartment at five on Wednesday. We'll go. You shake hands, you  
smile, you answer questions. There are drinks. There's dinner. There's a presentation, more drinks.  
Then checkbooks. Everyone leaves happy.”

“And the premiere?”

“The next day. You guys show up, Ian's the belle of the ball. After the small after-party, you two ride  
off into the sunset.”

“We ride around the block, I get out, and I get a cab home.”

Mandy sighs. “Okay.”

He rubs his forehead. “I'm still going to go to Chicago. Oversee the rest of it, be at the opening. He  
glances at her and she shakes her head. “I need to get away for a while. And it's all going to be in the  
news about us, and I don't want to have a microphone shoved in my face every time I go outside.”

“Okay. I mean, I understand.” She frowns, her forehead creasing. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Me sayin' no's never stopped you before.”

“Do you love him?”

“No.” Mickey gets up and goes into the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. He comes back out  
and leans against the door jamb. “But I could have.”

She nods “Yeah. You want me to kick the ex's ass?”

“No. He's who Ian wants. Always has been. Kicking his ass won't solve anything for anyone.”

“You have to promise you'll come back. You can't stay in Chicago.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I'm not fucking kidding, Mickey.”

“Don't worry. You're stuck with me.”

**

He gets his hair cut mostly so Mandy will shut up. The closer the gala gets, the more freaked out she  
gets, constantly reminding him of how to behave when they're in public, like he’s going to belch the  
alphabet in Steven Spielberg’s face. The worst part is that he can feel her anxiety laying on top of his,  
and he's starting to feel like he's drowning. He's glad to get away, even if it involves going to her  
hairstylist.

Mickey keeps staring at her until she slaps the scissors against the top of his head and stares back at  
him in the mirror. “Go ahead, asshole.”

“Ow! What?”

“Please. What do you want to ask? Where's my dick? Why didn't I get a boob job so I'd have something  
to grab since we got such a thing for them? Being a freak like this can I actually fuck myself?”

“You're a dude?” Mickey frowns. “I didn't know. Sorry. Was I supposed to notice? I thought I wasn't supposed to notice? I mean, sorry?”

“You didn't know?”

“Nah. I mean, you look like a chick.”

She laughs. “Wow. Thank you.”

“But now that I know, why'd you choose Ethel? Family name?”

She stares at him and laughs. “Really?”

“The other stuff's none of my fucking business.”

“You want the truth or the bullshit?”

“Whatever you want to give me. I assume that'd be the bullshit, because why would you have a bullshit  
story otherwise?”

“It is. Old family name. Ethel was the only one who believed in me. Who saw me as me and not 

Linus.”

“Linus? Okay, well I guess...I guess Ethel is...”

“Nah. I'm shitting you. When I was growing up, my best friend and I would watch _I Love  
Lucy_ reruns. She loved it because her name was Lucy, so who else was I gonna be?”

“Was?” At Ethel's look, Mickey shrugs. “You said her name was Lucy.”

“Car crash.”

“That’s the real story, isn't it?” Ethel nods. “I'm sorry. That really sucks.”

“It sure fucking does.” Ethel laughs. “Okay, hottie. Let's make you glamorous or some shit.”

“I don't want to look like anyone but who I am.”

She puts her hands on Mickey’s shoulders and leans in, her chin on top of Mickey's head and her eyes  
holding his gaze. “You're gorgeous. You know that, right?”

“The only time I ever hear that is when a guy wants to stick his dick in my ass.” Mickey face turns  
seven different shakes of red as Ethel's eyebrows both go up. “Shit. That really came out wrong.”

“I had a feeling.”

“Shit.”

“Shut up, handsome. It's probably the best thing for all concerned.”

Mickey nods and closes his eyes, letting her get to work. He knows how he looks isn't going to matter. Hopefully people will listen to what they have to say about the center, but they’re definitely not going to be looking at him. And they’ll just be hearing his words, not his voice. Ian’s going to deliver the speech, ask for the money. He’s an actor after all. Feigning passion for a project shouldn’t be that hard for him.

“So what’s he like in bed?”

“Pardon?” Mickey opens one eye to look at Ethel.

“Gallagher. Your fiance.”

“He’s fucking amazing.”

“And amazing fucking?”

“You ever see _Infinite Highways_?”

“What living, breathing, straight girl and gay guy hasn’t?”

“No special effects.” Ethel stares at him and Mickey nods. “Sorry, girls. That’s all mine.”

“How long does he have to prep you to take that?”

“That is absolutely not a single damn bit of your business.”

She laughs and goes back to focusing on Mickey’s hair. He closes his eyes again and gives himself over to the feel of her fingers on his scalp and in his hair. She finally spins Mickey’s chair around. “Open your eyes.” Mickey does as he’s told and he has no idea how to react. “Now they’ll call you gorgeous whether they have a dick or not.”

“Wow.”

“He’s gonna haul your ass to Vegas and marry you tonight so no one else gets any ideas.”

“Maybe.” Mickey manages a smile. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s all taken care of, sweetie.”

“How much was it?” He stares at her until she tells him. He digs out his wallet and hands over a few bills. “Tip.”

“They tipped me too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my fucking hair.”

Ethel leans in and kisses Mickey’s cheek. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown. I’d better get an invitation to that wedding. And make sure he wears some tight pants, got it?”

Mickey laughs. “Will do.”

He goes back to the apartment. He can hear Mandy cursing in her room, so he knows she’s getting ready. The tux is laid out on his bed, and even if it fits perfectly, he’s going to be uncomfortable as shit. He runs his fingers over the fabric and sighs. This is almost over. Two more events and Ian Gallagher is a bittersweet memory. 

He’s already a bittersweet memory.

“Fuck,” Mickey whispers to himself, stripping off his clothes. He starts fresh, everything clean and new. He’s leaving everything behind when this is done. He’s already got a box to mail the tux and the other clothes Ian bought him back to Kevin’s office. Got his plane ticket to Chicago.

**

“Mandy! How the fuck do I tie this goddamned thing?”

“Because I ever wear a fucking tux?”

“Bitch.”

“Douchebag.” She comes down the hall and stands in his doorway. “Holy shit.”

“Fuck off.”

“No. I mean it. You look hot. Objectively.”

“I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“He’s going to regret you.”

“Fuck that.” Mickey shakes his head. “Don’t, okay? This is for the center, for show. Nothing else. I don’t want him to regret me. I don’t want him to ever think of me again.”

“Mickey.”

He gives up on the tie. “Please, Mandy?” He doesn’t really ever ask her for much, so she nods. 

“Okay, they’ll be here soon. I bet Kevin can tie your tie.”

“Good.” Mickey sits on the edge of the bed and pulls on his shoes. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” She’s looking at him worriedly, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too.” She heads back toward her room. Mickey waits until she’s out of sight to scrub his eyes with the heels of his hands. He sighs and gets up, walking out to the living room. There’s a knock on the door and he takes a deep breath, exhaling roughly before he answers it.

Ian looks fucking amazing. His tux looks like he stepped off some runway in Paris. “Jesus.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Mickey shrugs. “Pretty sure you know it’s good. You actually need the compliment?” Sarcasm is his best defense, and he hates that Ian smiles like he thinks Mickey’s teasing. “Where’s Kevin?”

“On his way.”

“Okay.”

“You want me to tie that?”

“No. Mandy said Kevin would do it.”

“Yes, but I’m right here. And I always have to tie his. Turn around.”

Mickey glares at him, but Ian just smiles and waits until Mickey finally does. Ian moves close, reaching around Mickey. “Your boyfriend coming tonight?”

Ian’s hands still for a moment then start again. “No. He’ll be at the premiere.”

“Great. I’ll go out the exit and you guys can do your thing. They only need me for the red carpet, right?”

“There’s a party after.”

“Give me the address. I’ll meet you down the block. You can pick me up. Sure no one will care if he rides with us.”

“Mickey.”

“What?” His voice is a dare and Ian sighs.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“No. It isn’t. I was useful. You’ll reimburse me for a job well done. We got our separate ways.”

“We could be friends.”

Mickey barks out a harsh laugh, staring straight ahead. “No. No, we really can’t.” He exhales roughly through his nostrils. “You gonna tie this fucking thing or not?”

Ian finishes with the bow tie and steps back. “I’m sorry.”

“Everybody needs to stop fucking saying that. You’re not sorry.” Ian flinches as Mickey nails him with a glare. “At least do me the courtesy of not lying to me.” He steps away. “Mandy? You ready?”

“I’m coming, Jesus.” She comes into the living room and stops. “Daaamn, Ian.”

“You look amazing, Mands.”

“Thanks.” She walks up to him and slaps him hard across the face. “I’m so pissed at you, you fucking asshole.”

Ian takes a deep breath. “Okay, I deserved that.”

“You _promised_ me that he wouldn’t get hurt.”

“What?” Mickey snaps. “Oh, fuck you both so fucking much.” He pushes past them both to the door, slamming it behind him. He stalks to the elevator, so mad he’s shaking. The doors are just shutting as the two of them come out of the apartment, so Mickey rides down alone, slumped against the wall. 

He feels like a charity case. He’s pissed off that Ian and Mandy are using him like a pawn, but he’s even angrier at himself for caring that Ian didn’t say anything about how he looked. Maybe Mickey can slip out of the party tonight with whichever waiter looks at him longest. Someone besides Ethel and his sister have to think he looks good enough.

Christ, he’s a pussy.

Kevin’s waiting for the elevator when Mickey walks out. It takes a second glance for him to realize it’s Mickey. “Oh. Hey. Where are Ian and Mandy?”

“Other elevator. Car outside?”

“Yeah, but we should wait for them.”

“No.” Mickey walks out of the building and climbs into the car. The press doesn’t expect him, at least not without Ian, so they don’t even try for a picture until Mickey’s shutting the door. Might as well lay the groundwork for the demise of their relationship. He hears the press when Ian walks out, asking if they’ve had a lover’s spat. Ian laughs and assures them that Mickey’s just nervous, that it’s a big night for him, for them both.

It’s a quiet and uncomfortable ride, exacerbated by the swarms of press at the venue. Ian takes Mickey’s hand after they get out of the car, his thumb rubbing over Mickey’s. Mickey manages a smile that he knows will at least pass as nervous. He is nervous. This makes or breaks what he wants his future to be.

“Oh shit.”

Mickey follows Ian’s line of sight directly to where Jason’s standing outside and talking with Joe. Mickey laughs roughly. “This matters to me even if you’re just doing it as part of the deal. Keep him away from me.”

“He shouldn’t be here.”

“No fucking shit.” Mickey shakes his head. “Have you told him there’s no competition for him to win? Even if I was in the running in the first place, he’d won before it ever even started?”

“I wish you’d listen.”

“Were you fucking him when we were fucking?” Ian doesn’t answer, and Mickey laughs. “Just the time you told me about? Or more?”

“It’s not...”

“Jesus Christ. Were you just laughing the entire fucking time? Why did you even involve me in this? Why didn’t you just get a fucking actor?” The realization hits him like a roundhouse kick. “You needed someone who liked you. Someone who might genuinely...” He takes a deep breath and realizes he’s shaking. “I don’t know which is worse. That you did this or that Mandy agreed to it. I’ll give you credit though, Ian. It was an Oscar worthy performance. I bought it hook, line, and sinker.”

“If you’d...”

“Fuck you.” Mickey walks off, ignoring the cameras and the reporters. He doesn’t care what excuse Ian gives them. He wants his fucking money and he wants the hell out of this, out of all of it. He stays out of the way and lets Ian and Mandy do the talking, wining and dining potential investors. He flexes his fingers, looking down at his tattoos. He’s not an actor. He got his fill of pretending when he was growing up.

“Finally figured it out, did you?”

Mickey looks up at Jason and shrugs. “I’m sorry. Did you think I give a shit? This was a job, plain and simple. I hope you two enjoy your life in the closet.” He starts to walk away and Jason grabs his arm. Mickey looks down at his hand and then back up at his face. “Ten years ago, you’d already be on the ground begging for mercy. As it is, you’ve got ten seconds to move your hand before I take you apart piece by fucking piece.”

Jason smirks but he removes his hand. “He told me everything, you know. About the sex. The oh-so sweet moments. You were so cute. Do you know what my favorite part was? When he asked you about seeing each other after all of this. Making you think he gave a shit.”

“Honestly? I never thought that, but I must be a better actor than I thought if I convinced you both.” He walks away then over to Ian. Ian looks at him warily.

“Hey, babe.” He wraps his arm around Mickey’s shoulder and leans in for a kiss. “Okay?”

“I told you to keep him away from me. Next time I’m going to fuck him up he won’t be doing anything except breathing through a tube for at least a month. Understood? I’m not playing your game anymore.”

“I told him to stay away.”

“I told you what I went through with Terry. Did you tell him that too? Did you tell him how I grew up? Was it a good laugh for you both?”

“I never laughed at you.”

“Bullshit,” Mickey hisses. “You’ve been laughing at me since the beginning. I’m glad I was amusing.” He leans in closer and kisses Ian hard. It’s angry and painful and he can taste Ian’s blood where the inside of his mouth gets cut by his teeth.

Ian moans softly, pressing closer. He threads his fingers into Mickey’s hair, palm cupping the back of Mickey’s head. 

Mickey pulls back and smiles at him, eyes hot on his. “Hope your boyfriend enjoys the show. I plan on making it a good one.”

Ian swallows. “I never told him anything about you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you did or do other than make me a shitload of money.”

“Don’t worry. The center’s going to be a reality.” Ian sounds sincere, and Mickey hates the impulse he has to believe him. 

“All I want.” Mickey reaches up and brushes Ian’s lower lip with his thumb. “Other than to never have to see your fucking face again.”

He walks off, smiling to himself. Mandy walks over to him and grins. “We’re doing really well, Mick. It’s so great how everyone’s contributing, just like we thought they would.” She hugs him tight and pulls back, glancing at Ian before meeting Mickey’s eyes. “You look happy. You guys talked?”

“You knew what he wanted and you served me up to him on a silver platter. Figured, what? I was paying for the center every other way, what the hell was one more?”

“That’s not how it is. Was.”

“It’s fine. I don’t give a rat’s ass anymore. You’ve got your priorities. I’ve got mine. And right now, my priority is a cigarette. Excuse me.” He brushes past her and heads outside the venue. There’s a huge patio where people have spilled out of the too-hot building, and Mickey has to shake hands and make small talk for nearly an hour before he reaches the side of the building.

“You lost? Or drunk?”

Mickey looks over from where he’s slumped against the wall. “Wishing like fuck I’d actually _brought_ cigarettes.”

“Today’s your lucky day.” The guy tosses a pack at him. “Hell, given that we’re in California, you’re extra lucky.”

“No. I’m really not.” Mickey pulls out a cigarette and hands the pack back, exchanging it for a lighter. “Are you a guest?”

“In a way. I’m something pretty on someone’s arm.”

“For real? Or for tonight?”

“I don’t know how real it is.” He blows out smoke, watching Mickey. “You’re the guy this is for, right? Ian Gallagher’s fiance?”

Mickey takes a deep inhale and blows the smoke out his nostrils. “Yeah.”

“We all thought he was with the screenwriter. You were kind of a surprise.”

“Surprised all of us.” Mickey tilts his head back and stares at the sky, stars not visible from the light pollution and the smog. “You know, it’s a good thing all the stars are on the ground around here.” He grinds out his cigarette. “If they were in the sky, none of us would see shit.”

**

The car ride home is absolutely silent. Mandy gets out at Kevin’s giving up on finally catching Mickey’s eye. Once they’re inside the building, Ian taps the driver’s shoulder and they start moving again.

“I’m not going tomorrow night.” Mickey says it quietly, but it feels like he’s covered the inside of the car with flying shrapnel.

“It’s part of the deal.”

“So don’t give me the fifty grand. I’m not doing this for another day. Just make up a lie about it. You’re pretty convincing when you lie.”

“Would you please _listen_ to me?”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s not what you think.” Ian looks down at his hands. “You have to listen. Please.”

“Fine. Go ahead.” He folds his arms across his chest. Ian’s quiet for a moment, staring down at his hands. Mickey rolls his eyes and turns to look out the window.

“I haven’t been with him the entire time, I swear.”

“Okay. Sure.” Mickey doesn’t look at him. “The hours between me talking about it and you refuting it makes me absolutely believe you.”

“I love you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Pull the car over.”

Ian and the driver echo each other. “What?”

“Pull the car over. Let me out. I’m done. Fuck you very much, Gallagher.” He gets out of the car before it comes to a complete stop and walks away from the car, hailing a cab. Ian’s car doesn’t move before Mickey climbs in the cab, and then it pulls away from the curb. 

Mickey can’t think about anything. All the walls he’s built up his entire life are crumbled rubble at his feet. Of course, the entire rest of the way home he can’t help but think, can’t help but hear the familiar voice of Terry in his head. 

He strips off all his clothes on the way to his bedroom, pulling on a pair of boxers. He lies on his bed and stares up at the ceiling for a long time. The replacement phone he’s gotten chimes and he reaches for it. It’s the center’s accountant. He opens the text and the number Mickey sees has enough zeroes in it that Mickey has to count them twice to make sure. He texts the number to Mandy and gets out of bed to pack as he calls the airline to change his flight.

**

Mickey walks around the center, looking it over. It’s almost ready, and it looks better than he ever dreamed it could. They’re a few weeks from the opening, and he’s in the last stages of interviewing volunteer counselors. He’s set up a program with some of the local colleges for school credit for psych and sociology majors, but he still needs professional volunteers and a paid head of the counseling program they’re offering the kids. He’s got three interviews lined up, and he’s slightly nervous.

Mandy keeps emailing him, but Mickey ignores what she writes, responding with pictures of the center’s progress. He knows it probably pisses her off, but Mickey doesn’t actually care. He ignores any press around Ian’s movie, ignores all the trashy magazines that are probably speculating about where Mickey is and why. He doesn’t care what story Ian’s telling the world.

He goes from the center to the apartment he’s rented, and the only places he stops are the grocery store and, occasionally, the bar down the block. He stays away from any of the bars or places that Ian’s family used to frequent, all of his own family’s haunts. It’s not bad. It’s pretty much the same life he had in Hollywood before Mandy and Ian decided to play their little game with him, and he likes it.

“Mickey? Your first interview is here.” 

“Thanks, Anna.” He smiles at the volunteer from one of the local LGBT chapters and who’s put herself in the role of his secretary. It freaked Mickey out a little at first because she tried to call him Mr. Milkovich for nearly a month, but he finally got her to stop and, since then, they’ve gotten along pretty well. He tells her she doesn’t have to do the stuff she’s taken upon herself, but she’s here for the same reason Mickey is in the end, so he lets her help how she feels she best can.

Plus having a secretary isn’t actually bad. She keeps most of the curiosity hounds out of his office and lets him get work done, informing them that Mr. Milkovich’s privacy is not something she’s willing to let them compromise and, if they were decent human beings, they’d let him alone while he dealt with things. It’s a tactful way of telling them to fuck off, which Mickey doesn’t think he could manage, so he lets her be the gate keeper of who gets in. She also keeps the press out, and Mickey’s considering hiring her in an administrative capacity as well as a press liaison. 

The first interview comes into the office and stares at Mickey. Mickey raises his eyebrows and starts his questions. He’s not sure what he’s really looking for, but the guy’s answers are vague and unfocused, so Mickey’s positive he’s not the one. Finally the guy stops and seems to give up all pretense of why he’s there. “What’s Ian Gallagher really like?”

“Ask People magazine. Thanks for coming in.” Mickey ushers him to the door and looks at Anna who walks the guy out to the street. Mickey sits back at his desk and rubs his face. It’s been weeks since he’s heard Ian’s name anywhere but in his head, and he knows it’s ridiculous that it hurts. He hates that it hurts.

“Hi.”

Mickey looks up at the woman in the doorway. She has shoulder-length red hair, freckles dusted across her nose, and a smile that’s too familiar for Mickey’s peace of mind. “Can I help you?”

“I’m your interview. I’m a little early.” She holds out her hand. “Debbie G-”

“I know who you are. Go the fuck away.” Mickey leans back in his seat and glares at her. “I’ve had my fill of Gallaghers. And, so help me, you make a fucking gay joke about that, I’m going to rethink my stance on hitting women.”

She opens the case she’s got with her and pushes a folder across his desk. He mutters a curse under his breath and opens it, closing his eyes for a moment before he looks at the contents. He’s afraid he’ll see Ian, but instead it’s Debbie’s resume. 

“You’re a psychologist?” He tries not to sound surprised, but the twist of Debbie’s mouth makes him think he doesn’t quite pull it off.

“I know you’re looking for a head counselor. I know you’re on a limited budget. I know you’re going to tell me you can’t pay me what my achievements and resume tell you I’m worth. However, this all hits pretty damn close to home for me, and I want to do this. I can supplement my income on the weekends with paying clients, which means I’d only be available on the weekends for emergency on-call situations. I won’t prescribe drugs. I will refer people to various outside agencies, even though they won’t be anything fancy. The resources around here have improved since you and Ian were teenagers, but they’re still sparse. I’m sure most of them are already working with you, and if they’re not, I might be able to persuade them to do so.”

“Yeah, yeah. You Gallaghers always look good on paper.”

“We look shitty on paper most of the time actually.” Debbie rests her elbows on the briefcase in her lap. “I don’t know what went down with you and Ian, and I don’t care. What I do care about is what you want to do here.”

“Why?”

“What?”

Mickey shrugs. “Why? You’re not gay. Ian had the easiest gay childhood of any south side kid ever. What the fuck do you care about the kids who don’t have it like that? You guys got out. You and Lip and Ian. Maybe the rest of ‘em too. I don’t know. I do know that you’ve got no reason to be all up in arms about the gay kids around here.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah. You expected something else?” He leans forward and rests his chin on his folded hands, his elbows firm on the desk. “So come on. What’s this about? I’m fucking tired of being lied to by your family, so why don’t you try the truth.”

Debbie sighs, glaring at him the entire time. “I want to start my own business, my own office. The group I’m with now is full of old men who think half of the stuff women and kids come in to talk about is bullshit. I want to help people.”

“You want to build up a clientele.”

“I want good press, yeah. I want to see the problems kids today are facing. You say we all got out of the south side, but we didn’t. Yeah. I went to school on the north side. Yeah, I work over there, but I’m here every night, every weekend. Nothing’s the same any more. It’s coffee shops and cupcake shops and Urban Outfitters and Hot Topic. Everything that made this part of town what it was is shoved back into dark corners. But those dark corners are filled with kids who grow up like we did. And they deserve someone looking out for them. Do I want something out of this?” Debbie exhales and leans back. “Yeah. I do in the long run. But does that mean I can’t help in the short run?”

Mickey looks at her resume. “I’d have to check all of this out.”

“Your secretary already did, I would assume. I can’t imagine she’d have called us in for interviews if we weren’t who and what we say we are.” Debbie looks Mickey directly in the eye. “Ian’s got nothing to do with this whatsoever. I was going to talk to someone before I knew who was building, and before I knew about you and Ian. I want to do this. And, to be fair, I ripped Ian a new one when I heard he might have fucked up my chances.”

Mickey laughs. “Ian doesn’t give a shit about me or this place. You don’t have anything to worry about on that score. If you’re the best person for the job, then I’ll hire you. That’s all there is. If he has a problem with you working here, that’s your business. If he’s got a problem with me hiring you, he can fuck off.”

“You know, when you came out, a bunch of other kids did too. They figured if you could do it, it could be done. Some it turned out all right for. Some, not so much. But enough. Not everyone needs an example, but everyone needs to see themselves represented.” She frowns and looks at a pen on Mickey’s desk. “If you don’t hire me, I want to volunteer. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but I’m serious about what I said and why I want to do this.”

“I’ve got another interview this afternoon.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll look forward to talking to you tonight.”

“Shit, you Gallaghers are all the fucking same, aren’t you?” He laughs, but it’s not funny. Shit. Nothing about Ian Gallagher and the havoc he’s brought into Mickey’s life is funny. “So fucking sure of yourself.”

“Fake it until you make it.”

Mickey shakes his head. “I faked it my entire life and it didn’t help me one damn bit. Make sure Anna’s got your number.”

Debbie nods and stands up, reaching out and carefully touching the back of Mickey’s hand with two fingertips. He jerks his hand back like he’s been burned and he looks up to glare at her. She’s frowning and obviously concerned, and it’s the last fucking thing Mickey wants in this entire fucking universe. “I’m sorry Ian hurt you.”

“When you walk through those doors, Ian Gallagher and I don’t exist. He’s not my ex-fiance. He’s not anything but some over-hyped Hollywood actor. The kids look up to him? That’s great. They want to be rock stars or actors or whatever? Sure, use him as an example. But you don’t talk about him and me at all. Nobody does, not just you. This isn’t Ian’s pity project he used to pay me off. It’s mine and I’ve worked my ass off for it long before I even knew your brother, and no one takes that away from me. So, as far as you and everyone else in this building is concerned, Ian Gallagher is nothing more than a face in a magazine. Got it?”

Debbie nods. “For the record, Ian doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t know how happy he’d be if he did know. Like I said, I don’t know what went down with you two, and I really don’t care. What I do care about is that you don’t hold the fact that he’s my brother against me.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Fucking Gallaghers, man.” He glances up in time to see a ridiculous and familiar grin dance across her face. He’s beginning to wonder when the sucker punches will stop. “Get the fuck out of here.”

This time she laughs and leaves. Anna watches her go and looks in at Mickey. “I’m sorry, Mickey. She must have snuck in when I was escorting the other guy out.”

“It’s fine, Anna. She was on the schedule.” He pushes Debbie’s file to the side. “You’ve checked all these out? Schools, credentials, references?”

“Yeah.”

“And you let Debbie Gallagher through the selection process?”

Anna looks down, her hands clasped behind her back. She looks chastised and ready to be punished. “I’m sorry, Mickey.”

“No. Hey. Don’t do that.” He gets up from his desk and walks out to her office. He grasps her upper arms lightly and ducks his head until he can meet her eyes. “I’m not angry. I look and sound angry, but I always look and sound angry. You know that by now, right?”

She sniffs and nods then sniffs again. “Y-yes.”

“Okay, well. My history with Gallaghers isn’t that great. They’re sort of an exposed nerve, you know?” He takes his hands off her arms and uses two fingers to tilt her head up. “I’m assuming she’s qualified, otherwise you wouldn’t have let her through, right?”

“She is. She’s very qualified. That’s the only reason. I wouldn’t have...I didn’t do it to upset you.”

“I know.” He gives her a smile and she squints as she tries to return it with one of her own. It’s almost painful. “I know, Mickey.”

“And hey, will you do something for me?”

“I’ll try?”

“Don’t look down. Not at yourself and not at anybody else. You think I could do this shit without you? I need you. You’re saving my ass. So you have no reason to look down at the ground. You look this motherfucking world right in the face, okay?”

“Or kick it in the balls?”

“That works too. Trust me.” He laughs as she giggles. “I’m going to go down the street and get some coffee. You want me to pick you up something? One of those god-awful smelling scones or whatever it is you eat?”

“How about just a mocha frappuccino?”

“Sure. Whatever the fuck that is, that’s what I’m getting you. Hold the fort, okay?”

**

“What?”

Mandy’s voice comes across the line, pissed off and loud. “About fucking time you took my fucking call, you asshole.”

“We’ve been emailing. What the fuck do we need to talk about?”

“Kevin and I are engaged.”

Mickey sits on the edge of his bed and stares at his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. He’s wearing a white tank top that just makes his skin look paler, his spattered freckles like dust on his skin. He’s too thin and there are dark circles under his eyes. The opening is in just a week, and the closer it gets the less he’s been able to eat or sleep. “Oh. Well. Congrats.”

“I wanted you to know first.”

“First.” He says it softly, but he knows she hears it, and he definitely hears the stutter in her breath. Not first then. “I’m happy for you, Mands. He seemed like a nice guy. Sure you guys will be great together. When’s the wedding?”

“In the spring.”

“Out there?”

“Yeah.” She’s talking carefully, feeling Mickey out. 

“Just say it, Mandy. You want out of the business?”

“I’ll just have to cut back. Planning and honeymooning and stuff.” She’s walking on fucking eggshells and it pisses Mickey off.

“When?”

“What?”

He sighs. “When do you want to start cutting back? Can it wait until the opening, until I’ve got shit settled here? Or is this an immediate thing?”

“We got an offer.”

Mickey closes his eyes and slumps back on the bed. This is it then. His last tie to L.A. getting severed. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. “It’s good?”

“Really good. I sent it to Tom to look it over and he’ll send you the details.” She’s quiet for a long moment. “Have you talked to him?”

“Tom? No.”

“Not our fucking lawyer, Mick. You know who I mean.”

“I’m hanging up now, Mandy. Send me the wedding invitation and I’ll put you guys on my calendar. Have Tom call me and I’ll have him set things in motion if it’s worth it. I’m going to crash now. Long day tomorrow.”

“Mickey! I think you should talk to him.”

“Well, you thought a lot of things when it came to Gallagher and they were all pretty fucking wrong, so excuse me if I don’t take your advice on this. Goodnight.” He hangs up and drops the phone on the nightstand. He drums his fingers against his stomach and closes his eyes. It’s funny. When he was a kid he never thought he’d get out of here alive. Now that he has, he’s going to end up here all the same. He’s pretty sure that’s irony, and it fucking sucks. 

He’ll sell if it’s a decent offer. He knows it. If it weren’t for the sale, he would have found some other reason to stay out of Hollywood. He’s probably old news by now, but there’s always going to be some fucking ‘what happened to’ feature on E! Or someone who thinks he owes them the ‘real story.’ whatever the fuck that is. 

And if he’s honest, there’s always the chance he’ll see Ian. Not that they move in the same social circles, but Ian knows where he lives, where he goes, what he does. Ian knows things about him that Mickey never intended to tell him or show him. 

He should try to sleep. Every day gets longer with more stuff to do before the grand opening. He’s forwarded all of Kevin’s emails to Anna so she can deal with the guest list of donors who are invited. It’s one more thing off of Mickey’s plate, though he spends more than enough of his time stressing that it’s casual, because the last thing he wants is to make these kids feel even more out of place. It’s bad enough he has to invite these people. He’s not about to let them make anyone feel inferior. 

He types out a few emails to people. His staff and volunteers are used to late night emails from him nowadays, and everyone knows to mute him after 9pm. He fires them off then sends another one to Anna reminding her that she gets a week off after the opening. She’s going to refuse to take it, but Mickey’s going to insist she stays away at least two days. She’s got to be even more exhausted than Mickey is.

His phone chimes and he’s surprised to see a response from her already. Except it’s not a response. It’s a forwarded message from Kevin stating that Ian will be at the opening, as per the invitation sent in response to his donation. She’s added a note at the bottom with about twelve exclamation points and a frantic plea of what to do.

He replies and tells her it’s fine and not to worry about it. To send Kevin and Ian the email about the event and leave it at that. Ian came through with his 50 grand, so Mickey can’t really tell him to fuck off. Not about this. People from Hollywood are probably used to seeing whores at fancy parties. 

He’s at the center before anyone else the next day and already on his third cup of coffee when Debbie comes into his office. She knocks on the door as she walks through it, sitting across from him. “I got an email from Ian.”

“I know. He’s coming to the opening. It’s fine. He made a significant personal donation. He has every right to be here.”

“I could tell him not to.”

“Your brother doesn’t take kindly to being told what to do. Well, not if it’s something he’s set his mind on doing. You tell him no, and he’s likely to do it that much more. It’s fine. It’ll be a big party. I’m sure we won’t even run into each other.”

Debbie cocks an eyebrow at him and he flips her off. “How are you still alive if you’re this delusional?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah, yeah. I brought doughnuts. They’re in the staff room.” She looks back at him over her shoulder as she walks out. “There’s only one maple bar. If you want it, you’d better get off your ass.”

“I told you that you should buy _more_ maple bars, not less. Jesus, woman.” He gets up and storms into the staff room. There’s a box of assorted doughnuts and one maple bar on its own plate, a toothpick with a post-it flag attached to it stabbed into the heart of it. Mickey reads the note and snorts. “Claimed in the name of Mickey Milkovich?” He raises his voice so everyone who’s around can hear him. “Damn straight. All your maple bars are mine, bitch.”

He hears scattered laughter as he heads back to his office. He’s smiling, which is more than he can say he was doing earlier in the morning. He likes the group he’s assembled. They all seem to have the same kind of sick, twisted humor he has and the ability to laugh at the bullshit that makes up everyday life around here. 

He settles in at his desk and checks his email. There’s one from the lawyer, and he opens it, reading over the information, the contract, and the lawyer’s comments. Mandy’s right. It is a good offer, which makes him think that someone has development plans in the neighborhood, and they want the land the building’s on. Mickey also has a feeling that the fact that he knows Ian Gallagher probably has something to do with him getting something close to market price. 

He sends back a response to get the lawyer’s interpretation of a few questions he has, but he knows it’s a done deal. Mandy deserves her own life, deserves to be happy. And he has this center, which is going to be his life for a long time. It’s what he’s wanted since he was eleven and figured out what and who he was, what it meant. A safe place. A safe space. Outside the doors is a world that consists of assholes like Terry, people who think that because of who they love all the people inside this building don’t deserve rights and lives and futures. But inside is a reminder that no one is alone. That they’re not alone. No matter where they grow up or who they grow up with. Rich or poor. Black, white, brown, fucking purple for all Mickey cares. 

They’re all the same underneath it all. Blood and bones and brains and emotions. Humans. Close your eyes and they’re all the same. Except some have dicks and some don’t.

“You’re laughing to yourself again, Mickey. Don’t make me have to call in a shrink. Because I can.”

“Just figuring out my speech,” Mickey calls out to Anna. “I think I should lead with how we’re all the same except some of us have dicks.”

“Are dicks.”

“No. _Have_.”

“Oh, I heard you. I just corrected you.” She turns around and leans over so she can look in his office door, and she’s smiling. 

“Why did I want you to have more confidence again?”

“Because you’d get bored with me otherwise.” She’s still smiling and Mickey can’t help but respond in the same way. “I mean, I’ve got tits. We all know they won’t hold your interest.”

“Are you suggesting that you’d prefer I keep you around for my own sexual pleasure?”

“If I preferred that, I don’t think I would have applied to work or volunteer here. There’s plenty of other places I can get told I should film my girl on girl sex so guys can get off on that shit, because two chicks is so hot.” She clears her throat and then talks in her normal voice. “The fact that you have a dick works well for both of us.”

“I bet a straight guy and a straight girl could say that too.”

“They’d just mean it different.” She straightens up and her voice changes, gets wary. “Oh. Hello. Do...do you have an appointment?”

Mickey frowns and gets up, walking to the door. He stops dead as Ian looks up from Anna and shakes his head. “No. I was hoping Mickey’d see me anyway.”

**

Mickey rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and bites his lower lip out of habit. “The opening isn’t until the end of the week.”

“I know. I thought it might be awkward if that was the first time we saw each other. Since there’ll be press present.”

“It’s going to be a packed house. I doubt we’d have even run into one another.”

“Even if that were true, I’m pretty sure the press would force some sort of meeting or ask all sorts of questions.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve learned really well how to redirect what people are asking back to what I want to talk about. Your secrets are safe with me.”

Ian sighs. “Will you please let me buy you a cup of coffee?”

“And be seen in public with you? No.” Mickey shakes his head. “Hell, the fact that you’re here is bad enough. I hope all your little paparazzi friends didn’t follow you here.”

“I flew in on a private plane. No one knows I’m here yet. And, if anyone does ask, I’m simply in town early to see my family. Same reason I’m here. Debbie told me she got the job here.”

“Anna can show you where Debbie’s office is. I’ve got work to do.” Mickey turns around and goes back into his office. His fucking hands are shaking and it pisses him off. He feels more than hears Ian follow him. “I think you misunderstood Anna’s directions. This ain’t Debbie’s office.”

“Can you at least look at me?”

Mickey shoves his hands in his pockets and turns around. He can’t imagine what his face looks like. He isn’t sure he wants to know. Ian looks good, which makes him irrationally angry. “Happy now?”

“I’m not strong.” Mickey snorts at him and Ian rolls his eyes. “Emotionally. I have classic middle child syndrome. Add on top of that fact that I have no parental role models other than Fiona, who for as good as she was, wasn’t great. Then mix in the fact that I have a different father than all my siblings. And the fact that, as a gay kid, the only people I could find who were even willing to be seen with me were usually older, married, lying to themselves, and lying to me. And now I work in Hollywood, which isn’t all that different. I like being other people because it’s easier than being me a lot of times.”

“I think I’ve already seen your best performance, Gallagher. No need to go for a sequel.”

“Jason made...Jason played on all of that. Reminded me of who I really am. What I was when I came out here. Who gave me my first role. Who wrote my first role. Reminded me that I owed him. That I wasn’t anyone without him. He knew exactly what to say. How to say it.”

“Right. It’s all his fault. Got it. I’ve seen the error of my ways. I totally forgive you.” He smirks and sits at his desk, propping his feet on the top. 

“People you love can hurt you worse than anyone else in the world. They know all the scabs and scars. They know all the tender spots. They know where to push to make it hurt, where to prod to make it bleed. I told him everything. I thought he loved me, and I gave him everything I had because I thought that was how it worked. I thought that that’s what you did when you were in love.”

“Well, then you’re a fucking idiot, aren’t you?”

Ian laughs. “Yeah. I am.”

“Well. Good talk.” Mickey drops his feet to the floor. “Have fun visiting your sister.”

“I didn’t lie.”

Mickey shakes his head. “You lied a whole fucking lot.”

“I was hooking. When I moved out there. That’s how I met him. I was on the streets and he saw me and, I don’t know, thought I’d be good as Lynchpin.”

“That how he paid you? A night of sex for the promise of a role?” Mickey shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Your sob story is very sad.”

Ian slams his palms against the desk. “Will you fucking listen to me!” He falls back in the chair behind and rakes his hands through his hair. “He paid. The first night. And the second. And the third. And then he gave me a script and I went to an audition. And, fuck, he was right. I was a good Lynchpin.”

“It was a crappy movie.”

“It was fucking terrible. But I was good.”

Mickey’s mouth quirks slightly. “Yeah. You were okay.”

“Good.”

“Fine. Good. Though how hard it could be to play some menacing freak with bad hair I can’t imagine. Just channel your dad.”

Ian lets out a surprised laugh. “Oh, man. He does have bad hair, doesn’t he? But he’s not even close to menacing.” He laughs again and then finally settles with a deep breath. “He promised to write me another role. And he did. And he was mediocre, but I was good. He wrote to my strengths and other people started to notice me. And I stopped hooking and moved in with him.”

“You stopped fucking different guys. You were still hooking.”

Ian winces. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. But it didn’t seem like it at the time. Not to me. It was different. It was what I wanted to do. So it took me a long time to figure out that, not only was I still hooking, I was paying him for the privilege.”

“Is there a point to this story?” Mickey tries to keep his voice flat, unaffected. “Are you looking for sympathy? Because you’re not going to find it here. You slammed the door and burnt the bridge on that.” His voice twists, turning sarcastic. “I’m sorry that your life is hard, Hollywood.”

“He’s good at manipulating me. Give me a shot at something I want and you can bend and twist and move me in whichever direction you want. That’s what he’s good at. Turning me inside out. Reminding me that I’m not strong, and I need to be taken care of, even when it’s the last thing I want. Even though I want to take care of myself. Even though I know I can.” 

Mickey stands up and walks around the desk so he’s directly in front of Ian. “I. Don’t. Care.”

“I meant it when I told you I love you. When I said that I didn’t sleep with him while we were together. That I didn’t send those emails. I swear I didn’t tell him anything about you. About us.”

“Get the fuck out of my office.” Mickey keeps his voice even, but it’s harder than it’s ever been. “We’re done. How many times do I have to say that? How many times do I have to do it until it’s hammered into your thick head?”

“Say it every fucking day. Just be here to say it to me.” Ian stands up, too close for Mickey’s comfort. He wants to take a step back, but the desk is in the way. “I know you don’t believe me. I don’t think I’d believe me either. Being a hooker isn’t the end of the world, right? Being a gay hooker is a little bit closer to it though. Being exposed as a hooker makes everyone question why I was in the roles I was in. What I did to get them. Not just the viewers, but my co-stars, the people who didn’t get the roles. What I’m capable of as an actor doesn’t matter at that point. All that matters is that I used to suck and fuck for money.”

“You have shit on him.”

“Because anyone’s parents would believe the gay hooker that just got outed? I have a shitload more to lose than he ever did.”

“So what’s changed? You’re still in the same position with him. He says jump, you ask how high. I’m surprised he even let you go through with this fucking farce.”

“We weren’t together at the time. And I was hoping that...”

“Some idiot would come along and let you buy and sell him instead of being bought and sold?”

Ian winces. “That’s not...”

Mickey reaches back and grabs the phone on his desk, glancing to make sure he’s punching the right numbers. Before Debbie even has a chance to say hello, Mickey’s talking. “Come to my office and get your goddamned brother.” He slams the phone down and looks back at Ian. “He’s always going to have this over you, because you refuse to see a way out. You want sympathy? You want someone to say it’s okay? I’m not that guy. I fought tooth and nail to be where I am. You’ve seen the scars, Ian. You’ve traced them, touched them. I clawed my way out of shit. All the rope I have to pull other people free of it is going to these kids.”

“I’m not asking you to help me!” Ian fists his hands in Mickey’s shirt and pulls him close. Too close. Not close enough. “I’m asking you to...” He doesn’t release his grip, but his muscles slacken slightly. “I’m asking you to try to understand. To let me try to fix it.”

“It was fake, Ian. All of it. There’s nothing to fix. False front. Matte painting.” He puts his hands on top of Ian’s. 

“It wasn’t all fake.” Ian licks his lips as he shakes his head, pressing a light kiss to Mickey’s lips. Mickey’s eyes close on instinct and he opens his mouth in response to the touch. Ian’s tongue slides across Mickey’s before the tip of it flutters across the roof of Mickey’s mouth. 

Mickey’s back arches and he presses closer to Ian, held there by the hand that Ian releases from Mickey’s shirt, settling it in the small of his back instead. Mickey knows they need to stop. Knows he needs to stop it, but the smell and the taste and the feel of Ian is overwhelming. Is so goddamned much what Mickey wants that he can’t. His leg wraps around the back of both of Ian’s and his hand slides up the back of Ian’s head. 

He whimpers softly as both of Ian’s hands move to Mickey’s ass and boosts him up on the desk. Mickey’s thighs tighten against Ian’s as Ian’s hands move up, tugging Mickey’s shirt free of his jeans and slipping under it, fingers warm, but cool against Mickey’s overheated skin.

Ian breaks the kiss and moves his mouth to Mickey’s neck, kissing his way down to nuzzle at Mickey’s jaw, to lick along the bone before scraping his teeth along the column of Mickey’s throat. Mickey’s brain reminds him that he needs to push Ian away for a hundred reasons, some of which he’d just explicitly stated, but the way Ian feels makes something in Mickey catch fire. Makes him want. Makes him believe.

Makes him stupid as fuck.

“Mickey, fuck,” Ian breathes, the words falling on damp skin and making Mickey shiver. Ian curves his hands around Mickey’s ass again and pulls him closer. Ian’s dick is hard and thick against Mickey’s, even through two pairs of blue jeans. “Want you. So fucking much.”

Mickey opens his mouth, determined to tell Ian to stop. That they’re not going to do this. He doesn’t get a chance before he hears a muffled laugh followed by Debbie’s voice.

“Hey, Ian.”

Both of them jerk back, Mickey’s jaw hitting Ian’s head and Ian falling backward, ending up half on the seat and half on the floor with Mickey trying not to topple on him. Ian fights back a laugh. “Hey, Debs.” He lifts a hand and waves at her. “How’s it going?”

“Well, I would say better than you, considering your position, but you also have my boss on top of you, so, maybe that’s okay.” She meets Mickey’s gaze as he manages to shove free of Ian and stand up. He knows he looks wrinkled and rumpled and horny. He’s really, really beginning to hate Ian Gallagher. “You called, Mickey?”

“You’re fucking hilarious. Your brother’s here to see you.”

“No. I don’t think he is.” She grins and crosses her arms over her chest. “Ian? You here to see me?”

“Eventually.” He holds his hand out to Mickey and stares at him until Mickey takes it in a huff and helps yank him to his feet. He walks over to Debbie and picks her up in a hug, lifting her off the floor. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Asshole.” She hugs him tight. “Tell me you’ve at least been to see Fiona first.”

“Saw Fi and Liam. Carl was working, so dinner tonight with the family. You coming?”

“Of course. Mickey. You and Anna should come too.”

“What?”

Anna echoes him. “What?”

“We should fire up the bar-b-que. Have a pre-opening celebration. Invite everyone here. I’ll call Fiona.” She wriggles out of Ian’s arms and heads off to her office.

“Shit, Fiona is going to be pissed.” Ian’s smiling and Mickey stares pointedly at him. “What?”

“Go with your sister. Go stop your sister. I’m not coming to some Gallagher family reunion so I can be inundated with questions about our relationship. Or lack thereof. Or why I’m there at all if there is a lack thereof.”

“It’s a work thing.” Ian shrugs one shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“Oh my god, I fucking _hate_ Gallaghers.” He stomps back into his office and flings himself in his desk chair. “You’re all more trouble than you’re worth!”

**

“I’m not going to this.”

“Yes, you are.” Anna and three of his other volunteers shove him in the back seat of the car, people climbing in on either side of him so he can’t actually get out. 

“You guys are assholes, and I’m your boss.”

“We’re officially all volunteers, so you’re not our boss.” Anna climbs into the driver’s seat and grins back at him. “Now, put your seat belt on and shut up.”

“I take back my earlier statement. I don’t just hate Gallaghers. I hate all of you. A lot.”

“Yes, Mickey. We know.” He gets patted on both thighs by the college students beside him. It’s patronizing and annoying and also kind of nice. Mickey likes being accepted. Being thought of as someone people want to hang around. Likes the community he’s helping to build. Going to the Gallagher place isn’t nice. Seeing Ian again isn’t nice.

Except how it is.

Fuck. He is so fucking fucked.

“Soooo.” Mike, the guy next to him who looks like a linebacker because he actually _is_ a linebacker bumps Mickey’s shoulder with his. “You and Ian Gallagher.”

“The same rules apply. He’s Debbie’s brother. He’s not my anything. Just because I’m being dragged to this fucking party doesn’t mean I want to talk about Ian or answer questions about Ian or interact with Ian, and I don’t care if you’re volunteers, I can still fire you.”

“No, you actually can’t.” Marissa’s in the front seat next to Anna. They’ve got a start-up catering business and has been working on the opening for them. Mickey and Anna have done their best to find local businesses to work the opening, focusing on those run by people in the community. Marissa is nice and doesn’t give Mickey too much shit, so he appreciates them. Anna’s made sure all of the locals are included in the program to give each of the businesses a bump, hopefully. They’ve only gone with out owners because the last thing Mickey wants is someone assumed to be a queer-run business if that’s not what they want simply because they’re helping out at the opening. “So suck it up.”

“I really do hate you all.”

“No, you don’t.” Robert, Mike’s boyfriend, says. He’s on Mike’s lap in a blatant disregard for the law, and their girlfriend, Teri, is practically on top of Mickey. “This car is sort of like an orgy.”

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I’m riding with a bunch of horny college students. I swear to god, anyone starts making out, I’m out of this car so fast. And don’t think my knee won’t go into your balls, Robert.”

“I love it when you talk dirty, boss-man.”

“Me too.” Teri turns her head and gives Mickey a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Say more stuff.”

Mickey closes his eyes and counts to three. “You know, Pauline, you could chime in here and save me.”

“Nah. Watching you squirm is more fun.”

“You guys know you’re awful when I’d rather be at Ian’s right now, right?”

“We know you’re excited to see Ian.” Teri wriggles on his lap. “I can tell.”

“Oh my _god_.” Mickey whines. “Anna let me out of this car.”

“Okay.” She pulls up to the curb and Mickey practically pushes Pauline out of the car. He stops dead and looks around. 

“Shit. This is...Jesus. Different.” He vaguely knows where he is. The Ball house hasn’t changed much – still nice brick and upscale. Or it used to be before the rest of the neighborhood got a major upgrade. He knows this is the Gallagher house even though it doesn’t really look like it. But it’s the same underneath a coat of paint and some actual maintenance. 

Ian appears at the door and waves. Mickey waves back on instinct, turning around to take in what used to be run-down and reeked of desperation. He knows it’s Ian’s hand that settles on his shoulder. “Weird, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“You haven’t been back here?”

“No reason.” He turns and looks at Ian. “I shot out the windows of half the fucking businesses that tried to move in. Guess it was all in vain, huh?”

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Except the people who lived here can’t afford to live here now, so they keep moving somewhere worse. Who’d have thought there was somewhere worse.” He shakes his head and shakes off the unwelcome desire to go back to his old house, to see what’s there now. He knows their place was probably destroyed. There was no way to save it. No reason to.

“Hey.” Ian’s fingers catch Mickey under the chin and he turns Mickey to face him. “Come on. There’s burgers and hot dogs and potato salad and baked beans and corn on the cob and all sorts of picnic stuff. Half the center folks are already here. I promise you can have fun and I won’t bother you.”

Mickey meets Ian’s eyes and nods, stepping back before he gives in to the urge to step forward. “Yeah. I’m starving. Anna refused to let me have lunch today so I’d have no choice to come, since I was starving.”

Ian wrinkles his nose and reaches out, thumb on Mickey’s cheek. “You’re wearing lipstick.”

“Teri. Cute blonde? She was joining in on the entire car’s desire to give me as much shit as possible.”

Ian frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t like other people kissing you.”

“What you like doesn’t matter, remember?”

Ian’s frown deepens. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Some chick giving me a kiss on the cheek makes you ask if I’m seeing someone? You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve, you know that?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Especially because you were the one fucking around.” Mickey steps back so Ian’s not touching him. “I’m real sorry your boyfriend’s an asshole, but that’s not my problem.”

Ian nods. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore. There...there’s this guy who reminded me that I’m not my past. I can be anything I want to be, anyone I want to be. Because he used to be someone, and he’s not that someone anymore.”

“He’s still that someone.” Mickey’s mouth quirks in a self-deprecating grin. “People change what they do, but they don’t change who they are. Everything that happens makes you who you are. Took me a long time to learn that and accept it. To decide I was worth actually trying to be someone I wanted to be, rather than someone Terry wanted me to be. You have to pay the price though. Everyone does. Just everyone’s price is different.” He laughs, amused. “Guess you know that. You already know my price.”

“Mickey.” Ian reaches out, but doesn’t quite grab his arm. “What do I have to do to get you to believe me?”

“I don’t know. Honestly don’t know if there’s anything.”

“What do I have to do to get you to not hate me?”

“Pretty sure what happened in my office this morning proves I don’t hate you. That’s my problem.” He nods toward the house. “Come on. Before the press get wind that you’re here and we have to go through all that shit again.” They walk up the steps and Mickey glances at him. “What’d you tell them, anyway?”

“That you came back to Chicago to focus on the center.”

“No. About us.”

“That you hated my guts because I was a lying, cheating asshole and I didn’t deserve you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I just told them that it was none of their business, and it was a difficult time for me, so maybe they could show some respect.”

“Huh.” Mickey nods, his lower lip protruding. “That work?”

“No,” Ian laughs. “Not really.”

“So what’d you tell them?”

“I just told you.”

“You said it didn’t work.”

“It didn’t make them stop asking, no. But it was all I was going to say.” Ian opens the front door and lets Mickey go in before him. “They eventually stopped asking, but that didn’t stop them from speculating.”

“Best rumor?”

“That it was all a front as promotion for my new movie.” Ian shrugs as he shuts the door. “That actually got smacked down since you didn’t go to the premiere, so how could it be true?”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.”

Mickey laughs. “Jesus.”

Ian grabs his hand and pulls him to the stairs. “Let me give you a tour.”

“So help me, you ask me to look at your etchings or rehearsal tapes, I’m going to punch you in the throat.”

“Just come on. I promise to behave.” Ian turns around, walking up the stairs backwards, a smile on his face that hits Mickey somewhere in the chest. “Can you promise the same?”

**

Ian tells him all of the rooms are the same as when he was a kid except with new owners. Debbie’s room is now Liam’s and Frank’s is now Fiona’s and Fiona’s is now Carl’s. Debbie sleeps in Carl’s old bed when she visits, though she insists it still smells like boys and masturbation. Carl always tells her it’s the same thing and she makes sure to change the sheets every time. Just in case.

He makes Mickey laugh, which pisses him off.

“So you seriously slept in that little bed?”

“Yeah. I was going to have the top bunk, but I kept smacking my head on the ceiling. Lip was shorter, so he got that.”

“It’s the size of a doll bed.”

“Fuck off, it is not. It’s a perfectly normal sized bed.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a perfectly normal sized human.” Mickey waves his arm at Ian. “You’re tall and wide and shit.”

“Tall and _wide_?”

“Your shoulders, asshole.” Mickey snorts. “Pretty sure you’re 90% muscle.”

Ian tilts his head. “What’s the other 10%?”

“Dick.”

Ian shoves Mickey and Mickey shoves back, and pretty soon they’re laughing and Mickey’s got Ian’s pillow, and Ian grabs the one off Carl’s old bed and they’re smacking each other. It’s probably a little more violent than it should be, both of them venting frustration and anger. Mickey gets a good shot, nailing Ian in the crotch and then in the face when Ian bends over. 

Ian charges him and they end up on Ian’s bed, Mickey’s head smacking the slanted ceiling. “Ow. Motherfucker.”

“Sorry.” Ian tries to bite back a smile, but he actually sucks at it. Mickey jabs him in the side. “Hey! You deserved it. You hit me in the dick.”

“With a fucking _pillow_.”

“So?”

“For that I deserve a fucking concussion?”

“I could be damaged for life.”

Mickey looks down at the bare minimum of space between them then back up at Ian. Ian groans low in his throat and presses closer. Mickey spreads his legs on instinct so Ian can settle between them. “T-think you’re okay on that front.”

“Seems to be working.” Ian’s braced over him, and Mickey can’t stop looking at his mouth. “Could be a false start. We could...test it. Make sure.”

“There’s a whole lot of people downstairs. Who are probably listening.” Mickey licks his lips and flicks his gaze up to Ian’s. He shakes his head just the slightest bit and surrenders, pulling Ian down and into a kiss. He wants to be angry. He wants to be stronger than this, but the way Ian feels against him, the way he tastes and touches and smells are too much. 

He hates that he wants to believe Ian. Hates that he’s in love with Ian and everyone seems to know it, no matter how much he denies it. He hates himself and he hates Ian and he wants him more than he’s wanted almost anything in his life. Ian opens his mouth and Mickey kisses him, hard. 

“Shut up.”

Ian nods and kisses Mickey again before sitting up and tugging off his shirt. Mickey does the same, tossing it away before Ian crashes into him again, skin against skin. Mickey rolls them over, and Ian smacks his head on the wall this time. Swallowing his yelp in another kiss, Mickey hooks his heels under Ian’s thighs and stares down at Ian.

“This is such a bad idea.”

“You shut up.”

Mickey nods and leans in, kissing Ian on the mouth, on the jaw, on the throat. He traces Ian’s collarbone with his tongue and Ian’s arching into Mickey’s touch. Mickey works his way down, licking and sucking and scraping his teeth on Ian’s skin. Ian doesn’t bruise as easily as Mickey, but Mikey knows Ian’s skin tinges with red and purple if Mickey dedicates enough time to making it happen.

Ian’s breath is rough and unsteady as Mickey works his way down over Ian’s abs, his navel. He flicks his tongue along Ian’s waistband then tugs at the fabric, popping the button with his teeth. Ian whines high in his throat as Mickey’s teeth catch his zipper. “Jesus. Please.”

Mickey pulls the zipper down and kisses the curve of Ian’s boxer-clad dick where it presses between the parted metal teeth. He unhooks his legs from Ian’s and grabs Ian’s jeans and boxers, pulling both down, still pushing at the material when he takes Ian in his mouth.

Mickey watches Ian through his lashes, watches his mouth fall open and his eyes close. Watches his breathing stutter in his chest. Watches his hands fist in the sheets and pound on the mattress. It’s gorgeous, and Mickey wants it burned into his memory along with the freckles that are sprinkled across Ian’s lower abdomen, on his pelvis. He swallows roughly and Ian arches, one of his hands fisting in Mickey’s hair and pulling tight. 

“Oh, god. Oh god.” Ian’s hips rock up and Mickey presses the palms of his hands on Ian’s hips, holding him down. Ian whimpers again and bites his lower lip, faint mewls making their way past the barrier of teeth and skin. “C-condom. I have...oh god. M-Mick. Want...” He fumbles at the drawer of his old dresser beside the bed and feels around in it, finally finding a condom in between begging Mickey not to stop and telling him to stop so Ian can last long enough to be inside Mickey, buried in him. 

Mickey pulls off of Ian and Ian pants roughly, shakily. “Gimme.”

Ian hands over the condom and Mickey opens it, holding the base of Ian’s dick with one hand as he slides the condom on with the other. Ian looks like he’s falling apart and it takes a hell of a lot more restraint than he thought he was capable of for Mickey to actually take the time to lube the condom. He knows he can’t wait to open himself up. Knows it’s going to hurt and burn to take Ian like this.

He shoves out of his pants and straddles Ian, reaching back to hold Ian’s dick still as he lowers himself onto it. Ian’s fingernails rake Mickey’s thighs, and Mickey’s head falls back from the three points of contact, three points of pain. “J-jesus fuck. You’re so t-tight. Jesus.” Ian’s voice breaks as Mickey sinks down slowly. Mickey can’t breathe except in shallow gasps, each inch taking his breath away more and more. 

When he has all of Ian inside him, Mickey fights for air, not moving. It takes him a moment to open his eyes and look down at Ian. His hands are on Ian’s chest and he can feel the hard pebble of Ian’s nipples against each palm. Mickey licks his lips and lifts up, exhaling roughly as he slides back down. It stretches and he feels like he’s coming apart, but in all the best ways.

He rocks back and forth rapidly, Ian at an angle inside him. He’s can’t look at Ian as he curls his fingers, nails digging into Ian’s chest. Each breath is a huff through his nostrils, sharp and jerky. Ian’s nails are embedded in Mickey’s thighs and he matches Mickey’s rhythm, thrusting forward every time Mickey rocks back. It’s hard and fast and so fucking good. Mickey has to reach between them and wrap his hand around his dick, letting Ian take control of the desperate pace they’ve set so he can jerk himself off.

“S-so close, Mick.” He grabs Mickey’s hips and holds them, and Mickey knows he’s going to have bruises and scratches again, and he’ll be feeling Ian in him and on him for days. The thought is nearly enough to push him over the edge. “H-hold on. C’mon. Hold...hold on for m-me.” Ian pants, holding Mickey’s eyes with his own.

“Jesus, Ian,” he thinks he’s begging. He knows he’s begging.

Ian lets go of Mickey’s left hip and wraps his hand around Mickey’s, stroking his dick with him. It’s too much, overwhelming, and Mickey can’t help but come. Ian thrusts up, back arched, buried deep as he comes as well. Mickey stills and he can’t breathe, feeling his face go red until he manages to pant once roughly then suck air in.

Ian’s staring up at him with wide eyes, his chest heaving in time with Mickey’s. “Holy shit.”

Mickey slumps down on top of him, feeling Ian slip free and not caring. Feeling his come hot between them and not caring. “We’re...we’re really good at this.”

“Experts.” Ian nods. “We could...we could get out of here. Go someplace.”

“Why?” Mickey pulls back and eases away from and off of Ian. 

“Talk.”

Mickey’s brow furrows. “We don’t have anything to talk about, Ian. You told me what’s going on with you. I’ve made it clear what’s going on with me.” Ian can probably see the lie, see every wall Mickey’d constructed when he was a kid going back up. “This was just hormones. I mean, it was great, but it’s not happily ever after. We have good sex. That was all this was.”

“Bullshit.” Ian sits up and grabs Mickey’s wrist. “That wasn’t all it was. Not for either of us. Look me in the eye and say it. Tell me that it didn’t mean anything.”

Mickey closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and meets Ian’s gaze. “What do you want from me?”

“Another chance. To get it right. Get us right. No Jason. No bullshit deal. Dates if you want. Start from the beginning. Let me get to know you. The Mickey Milkovich that grew up here and the guy he became.”

“I can’t think about this right now. I can’t do this right now.” Mickey turns his hand in Ian’s grip so he can rub the inside of his wrist. “The center opening is less than a week away, and that’s about all I can handle, okay? We got the sexual tension out of the way-”

“Speak for yourself. I want to fuck you again right now.”

“And I’m staying in Chicago. Permanently. Mandy and I are selling the business and...this is where I need to be. Where I want to be. So before you start asking for things, start looking like we’ve got some sort of future, I need you to think about that. Because right now that’s the one thing in my life that I’m completely sure of. The only solid thing I’ve got.”

“Okay.” Ian’s frowning, obviously unhappy with the situation as he stands up and finally disposes of the condom. He grabs a tissue box and holds it out to Mickey before taking some himself. “We’ll talk later. When you’re ready.”

Mickey wants to tell him they’re not going to talk. Wants to make it clear that it’s not going to happen, but he doesn’t buy it himself, so he knows there’s no way he can convince Ian. “Thank you.” Mickey finishes cleaning himself up and adjusting his clothes before he heads for the door. He looks over his shoulder and smiles. A real smile. “Asshole.”

**

Ian stays away from Mickey and the center, which Mickey tells himself is what he wants. He can focus on the opening and the last minute crises that come up. He can run around asking everyone if everything is set and staring at people who just as wide-eyed and freaked out as he is. It’s kind of amazing and awful all at once.

He’s on the phone yelling at someone about flowers when Anna peeks her head in. He snaps something about fucking carnations as Mandy ignores Anna and comes into the office. He waves at her to sit down and covers the mouthpiece. “Anna, what’s the gayest flower?”

“Flowers aren’t sexual beings as far as we know.”

“You know what I mean.”

“We’re not going for gay. We’re going for all-inclusive. Tell them white roses, carnations, and gardenias.”

Mickey uncovers the mouthpiece. “Flowers aren’t sexual beings. Just go with the white roses, carnations and gardenias that we ordered. Okay? Okay. Thank you. And be on time.” He hangs up and slumps back in his seat. “I hate people.”

“You’ve picked a series of really interesting careers then.”

“To be fair, my first career involved robbery, which was generally something I tried to do without people around.” He sits up. “Let me see the rock.”

Mandy grins and holds out her hand. Mickey knows shit about diamonds but he knows big and expensive when he sees it. “Totally worth stealing, right?”

“I hope he actually paid for it.”

“As far as I know.” She wiggles her fingers. “I know you’re still pissed at me, but you’re happy for me, right?”

“Course I am. I want you to be happy. You deserve it.” His mouth twitches slightly and he bites the inside of his lower lip. “You still suck though. What you did.”

“I didn’t know about Jason.” She shrugs. “I would have beat the shit out of Ian for suggesting anything if I’d known. You have to know that at least.”

“Yeah. I know. I just...” Mickey blows out a breath. “Shit, Mandy. It felt like I was getting it from all sides.”

“Is that a kinky sex thing?”

He flips her off, but he laughs. “No, bitch.”

“Just checking! I don’t know how you homosexuals do things.” She grins and relaxes in her chair. “This place looks amazing, Mick. I’ve been looking around, meeting the people you’ve got working and volunteering here. I’m really proud of you.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Yeah. You did. This is your dream. Your hard work. Now stop pretending like it’s not an awesome thing you’ve done and actually say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

She uncrosses her legs and then crosses them the other way. Her elbow rests on her knee and she puts her chin on her hand. “So.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“All I said was ‘so’!”

“Yeah, but it was _how_ you said it.”

“And how did I say it?” She raises an eyebrow at him and Mickey can imagine how everyone else feels when they’re on the receiving end of him doing it. “Exactly.”

“Like you’re going to ask questions you have no right or reason to ask and no one’s going to be happy with the outcome, so it’s better for everyone if you just stop right there.”

“I heard about the bar-b-que at the Gallaghers.”

“Or you could keep going.” Mickey leans back in his seat and looks up at the ceiling. He really just needs to resign himself to listening to Mandy and being hounded until he answers her questions.

“Well, I didn’t hear much about the bar-b-que so much as I heard about the show you and Ian gave everyone.”

“We didn’t give anyone a _show_.”

“Oh, excuse me. The fact that no one saw it makes all the difference. I’m pretty sure some of the people here do a pretty good Mickey Milkovich begging for dick impression.”

“Fuck off.” He knows he’s blushing, can feel the burn on his cheeks.

Mandy just laughs at him. “So are you two...”

“No.”

“But you...”

“We had sex.”

“But...”

“Mandy, don’t, okay?” He shakes his head. “Just don’t. I don’t know what we are or what we’re doing, and right now I can’t think about anything else but this. And, to be honest, I don’t know that I’m ever going to want to think about it. I’m staying in Chicago, so it’s sort of a moot point.”

“You’re staying here?” She sounds shocked, even though Mickey doesn’t know why she would be. “but...”

“What’s in California?”

“It’s more what isn’t. Chicago’s filled with bad, painful memories. We got _out_ , Mickey.”

“I know that. But this is important to me. I didn’t think it would be like this, but it’s been an amazing experience. It’s something I want to do. And I care about it a hell of a lot more than I care about Terry’s ghost. Fuck, why should I let him dictate any part of my life?”

“But Ian.” She looks at him, her eyes pleading. “You’re in love with him. I know you are.”

“There’s shit more important than love.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? No there isn’t! Jesus. Why are you so fucking determined to be unhappy?”

“What part of doing what I want to do sounds like I’m being unhappy?”

“You act like you think you don’t deserve to have someone love you.” 

Mickey snorts a laugh. “Seriously? You get engaged and now you’re some sort of fucking expert? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit, I don’t! You just walked away from Ian. You’re in love with him and you just walked away like a pussy.”

“He was with someone else!”

“You could fight for him!”

“Why?” Mickey lowers his voice. “He had me and I wasn’t enough. Just south side trash. That’s what he wanted, and that’s what he got. Tattoos on my hands. Chip on my shoulder. I don’t know how to be in his world, and we were all idiots thinking that I could, even for four months.”

“That is such fucking shit. Are you saying that I shouldn’t marry Kevin because I’m not good enough?”

“No!”

“I’m from the same place you are.”

“Kevin’s not in the public eye. He’s not going to be embarrassed by you. He’s not going to regret you.”

“You are _so_ full of shit.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Mickey sighs, tired of fighting battles on all fronts. “He’s in L.A. I’m in Chicago.”

“Well, figure out a way. Don’t make me...”

“You’ve already done enough.” Mandy flinches and Mickey rubs his forehead with two fingers. “For the right reasons, but still, I need you to leave it alone, okay?”

“So you’re just going to let him walk away?” Mandy’s voice is calm, but Mickey can tell she wants to argue more.

“I’m not making or letting Ian do anything. I’m the only one I’m responsible for. The only thing I can control. I asked Ian to let me get through this before we even think about this. Can you do that for me too?”

“Fine.” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest defiantly. “For the record, I still think you’re an idiot.”

“Well, you can sleep well tonight knowing you’re probably right.”

**

“Anna, did you...”

“Yes.”

“And the...”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Anna lets out an exasperated sigh. “We’ve gone through the checklists – all twelve of them, along with the checklist of checklists – seven times. Everyone is here. Everyone’s ready.”

“Shit. I have to talk to people. Shit.”

“Knock knock.” Ian peeks in the door. “He freaking out?”

“I’m not freaking out.”

Anna nods. “He’s freaking out.” She ignores Mickey flipping her off.

“Place looks great. You guys have done an amazing job. There’s already a group of kids talking to Robert, Mike, and your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my...” Mickey takes a deep breath as Ian grins.

“Can I have a minute alone with him, Anna?”

She huffs a laugh. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, but if you want to take your life into your own hands, I’m not going to stop you. I am, however, going to go check on the music.”

“Make sure they...”

“Yes, Mickey,” she calls out, waving back at them and closing the door behind her.

“I swear, that woman...”

“Hey.” Ian waves his hand in front of Mickey’s face. “Hi. You did good.”

“It hasn’t started yet.”

“Don’t argue with me,” Ian steps closer, brushing his fingers over Mickey’s jaw. “You did good.”

“I...”

“Say, ‘thank you, Ian’.”

“Fuck off, Ian.”

“Close enough,” Ian laughs. He comes closer and settles his hands on Mickey’s hips. “Relax, okay?”

“Sure. Yeah. No problem. I’ll just do that. No fucking problem.”

“Bet I could relax you,” Ian says as he pulls Mickey closer.

“This isn’t relaxing. This is sort of the opposite.” Ian smiles and holds Mickey’s gaze as he sinks down to his knees. “Shit! What are you doing?”

“Told you. I’m relaxing you.” Ian undoes Mickey’s belt and then works his fly open.

“Ian, you can’t...we can’t do this here.”

“Bet we can.” Ian runs his tongue up the length of Mickey’s cock through his boxers. Mickey groans softly, the blood rising to fill his dick. Ian breathes against him and uses his thumbs to keep Mickey’s slacks open. “Want you. Let me?”

Mickey bites his lower lip hard and nods. His breath is hot and tight in his chest. He holds Ian’s eyes as Ian eases Mickey’s boxers down. “Ian.” It’s half plea and half prayer, and he breaks off when Ian blows a hot breath across the tip then takes Mickey in his mouth. Mickey’s fingers curl around the edge of his desk as he arches forward.

Ian’s palms rub over Mickey’s hips and his thumps press to the slight curve of Mickey’s stomach. He takes Mickey deep.

“O-oh shit. Ian.”

Ian tightens his hands as Mickey thrusts up into Ian’s mouth. Hollowing his cheeks, Ian sucks hard. Mickey’s hands move to hover over Ian’s head, not touching or grabbing him until Ian pulls back to the head of Mickey’s cock, sucking hard and tight with his lips firm against the ridge. Head floods Mickey’s body and his fingers dig into Ian’s hair, pressing hard against his scalp as Ian’s mouth relaxes slightly to take Mickey deep again.

Mickey thrusts forward and Ian’s hands push the material of Mickey’s slacks and boxers further down so his hands can cup Mickey’s ass, squeezing it, busing it for leverage to guide Mickey forward. Mickey thrusts, feeling Ian’s mouth relax around him enough that Mickey can fuck into it, go as deep as he can. With every inward stroke, Ian sucks, keeping Mickey suspended in a static state of pressure and pleasure. 

Ian’s nails dig into Mickey’s ass, pressing half moons into his skin. Mickey’s hips jerk, strokes erratic and faltering. Ian pulls him what feels like impossibly closer, deeper, and sucks him down, keeping Mickey hard against him as his orgasm fills Ian’s mouth. Ian swallows, constricting around Mickey and massaging his dick with his mouth until Mickey’s shivering and spent.

Ian eases back and sits on his heels. He smiles up at Mickey, looking pretty damn pleased with himself. “Better?”

Mickey’s holding tightly to the desk, unsure that he can stand under his own power. “I think you broke me.”

“Nah. Your dick’s in working order.”

“Might be the only thing.” Mickey takes a deep, shaky breath. “Shit. How am I supposed to function now?”

Ian stands up and licks at Mickey’s parted lips before kissing him. “You’re going to be great.”

“You could do the speech.”

“They want to hear it from you. I’m a pretty face, but you’re the passion. They _need_ to hear it from you.” Ian carefully fixes Mickey’s boxers and slacks. “I’ll be there though. As close as you want me to be.”

“We’re going to have a shitload of press here because of you and the gala. All your Hollywood cohorts.” He takes another breath and rolls his shoulders back. “I can’t believe you just gave me a blow job.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re in my office. And the opening is in an hour.”

“But you’re relaxed now, right?” Ian smiles and hooks his fingers through Mickey’s belt loops. “Admit it.”

“I’m not admitting anything.” Mickey can’t help smiling through. “But, you know, I didn’t hate it.”

Ian laughs and kisses him again. “Well, I suppose I should take that as a compliment.” He pulls Mickey closer until their bodies are flush. “I want to fuck you tonight.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Ian nuzzles Mickey’s jaw. “Pretty much all night if you’ll let me. Celebratory fucking.”

“You’re kind of ridiculous.”

“No.” Ian looks Mickey in the eye. “I’m in love with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s the truth.”

“It’s not...It’s not hearing it. I just can’t deal with it tonight. At all. So don’t, okay? Please?” Mickey’s voice breaks just enough that it’s audible. 

Ian nods and steps back. “Of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pressure you.”

“I know. I just...fuck, it’s just a lot right now, you know?”

“Yeah. Come on. Let’s take a last look through so you can freak out before everyone gets here.” Ian takes Mickey’s hand and squeezes. “Then I’ll reassure you that everything is okay, you can tell me I’m talking out of my ass, and before you know it, it’ll be time to cut the ribbon.”

“You should cut it.”

“Mickey. This is yours. Yours and Mandy’s.”

“It’s a reality because of you though. It’s opening ahead of schedule because of you.” He shrugs. “Besides, we’re a couple, right? What’s mine is yours. So you do it.”

“We can do it together. How about that?”

Mickey nods, not wanting to argue. He looks around and glances at everything. He trusts his people, his volunteers, so he knows there won’t be anything to fix. He’s still completely nervous and unsure, but he’s not actually worried. They check the behind the scenes things then move into the main room. Everyone’s gathered there. Mickey takes a deep breath and starts slightly when Ian squeezes his hand.

“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.” Mickey clears his throat, but everyone is already silent and listening. “You’ve all been amazing and I’m really grateful for each and every one of you. Not just for your help and hard work, but for putting up with me. I know I’m not easy all the time-”

“Ever,” someone calls out. Mickey’s pretty sure it’s Robert.

Mickey flips them all off in general and they all laugh. “You’ve all been great. So, um, thanks.”

“Hey, Debs?” Ian moves closer to Mickey and wraps his arm around his waist. “Do you have the things?”

“Yeah.” She starts walking around the small group and hands everyone an envelope.

“It’s not much, but it’s something for all your hard work.” Ian drops a kiss on the top of Mickey’s head. “From us. From me. For all of you keeping Mickey sane. For certain definitions of the word.”

Mickey frowns at him and whispers. “What did you do?”

“Don’t.” Ian presses his forehead to Mickey’s. “Just let me, okay?”

Mickey glares when he pulls back, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. He does turn away from Ian, but it’s to face everyone again. “Okay, so we should all go outside and get this over with.”

“Or, you know.” Ian smirks. “Started.”

“Whatever.”

**

Ian’s chest is against Mickey’s back, his arms wrapped around him. Mickey’s holding the ridiculously huge scissors in his hands, and Ian’s hands are on his. Mickey’s eyes are locked on the mayor – the fucking _mayor_ \- as he welcomes the center and hopes that all of the LGBT teens, as well as any of the other adolescents struggling with their understanding or defining their sexuality, will come where they are accepted and embraced. 

Mickey’s shaking, but Ian’s warm against him, and he matches his breathing to Ian’s. Ian’s used to this kind of scrutiny. Premieres and paparazzi are his day-to-day life. The mayor’s still talking, and Mickey’s not listening, because the few things he thinks he hears sound like some sort of redemption tale of the prodigal Milkovich son, and that’s complete bullshit. He knows Mandy and Kevin had a hand in the speech though, so he doesn’t call him on it.

Also Ian’s murmuring in Mickey’s ear, telling him how great he’s doing, how proud Ian is of what he’s accomplished. Mickey hates it that it means so much, but it does. The fact that Ian’s here is worth more than the rest of the media and government and movie stars out in the crowd. At least to him. He imagines a lot of the kids are starstruck by more than just Ian.

“Ready?” Ian whispers.

Mickey closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He looks up at Ian and Ian kisses him, slow and warm. Everyone gathered outside applauds and then Ian puts pressure on Mickey’s hands and the ribbon falls in two. Mickey looks at the door as Anna opens it from the inside. “So. This is Safe Space. Come on in.”

Mickey floats through the rest of the night. He knows little things go wrong because they always do, but he sees his people moving toward the problems and fixing them. He sees wide-eyed teenagers talking to actors and sports figures and movie stars. He sees Margo, a young filmmaker who has been hounding Mickey for weeks about making a film about the center, talking to Tom Hanks. Tom fucking Hanks. 

Marissa is talking to Laverne Cox and it’s kind of fucking amazing to see. Role models and inspirations taking the time to speak to these kids. To look at them like they’re people of value. To give them the respect they deserve. To let them know they’re perfect exactly the way they are, no matter who they love or what organs they were born with, no matter if it’s about sex or about love or about things the world is slowly figuring out names for. Everyone looks comfortable. Happy. 

“Which will make you feel better?” Ian comes up behind Mickey and wraps his arm around Mickey’s waist. “If I tell you this is amazing or if I tell you that your father is spinning in his grave.”

Mickey relaxes back against him. “Both?”

“I think I can hear Terry whirring.”

Laughing, Mickey turns around and looks up at Ian. “I’m not going back to L.A.”

“I know.”

“I mean it. I signed a lease on the apartment I’ve been renting. This is my life right now. For the foreseeable future.”

“I know.”

“We’ll both be alone a lot.”

“Skype. Face time. Good old-fashioned phone sex. Frequent flier miles.”

“I’m going to worry. About Jason. I won’t want to, but I will.” Ian’s expression changes, as if he’s just realized what they’re talking about. That they’re actually talking about it. “I know how hard it is to walk away from that kind of thing. I know that sometimes you have to walk away more than once. More than twice.”

“I didn’t walk away from him because of you. I mean, not just because of you. He was toxic. He used me against me. He was...like you said. He doesn’t deserve the space in my head. And I’m not the person he still sees me as. Like you said. I’m still that person, but I’m different now. He doesn’t want the different. He wants me to be the person he can control. He wants Hollywood, not south side. And I’m both. I like being both.”

“He’s going to come after you again.”

“I don’t think so.” Ian shakes his head and they’re pressed together tight. Mickey doesn’t remember moving this close, but he’s beginning to think there’s some sort of magnetic pull when it comes to Ian and him. “He got in a huge fight with the director of his next project, and they’re bringing in a script doctor. And he forgot that not everyone in Hollywood is above doing shit for money instead of the potential of a leg up.”

“I don’t understand.” Mickey’s not sure if Ian’s not making sense, if Ian’s being vague, or if he’s just an idiot. “My brain is sort of a pile of Jell-O, so maybe use small words to explain?”

“One night he invited a pretty young thing back to his house. Wined. Dined. Seduced. Got his ass caught on tape because he assumes he won’t be caught because he’s more clever than everyone else. Kid made a shitload of money from TMZ and a few of the gossip magazines. Which normally wouldn’t be the case for a screenwriter, but it’s different when there’s a lot of Oscar buzz for your script.”

“So he hung himself.”

“He was pissed off that I walked out on him. Pissed off that I told him we were done, that I’m in love with you. So he got sloppy.”

“And did you know this pretty young thing at all?”

Ian laughs. “Wow. You give me a lot of credit for being devious. But no. This is all on him. I’d never out him. Doing that against someone’s will is pretty shitty.” Ian rests his forehead against Mickey’s. “It won’t be easy.”

“No. It won’t.”

“But then, nothing worthwhile ever is, right?”

“Pretty sure that’s bullshit they tell us to make us work harder.” Mickey moves his arms up, resting them on Ian’s shoulders and lacing his fingers together behind Ian’s neck. “I’ve never done this shit before.”

Ian glances around. “You’d never done this shit before either. It seems to have turned out pretty well.”

“So far.”

“Seriously, you’re going to have to learn to control this optimistic streak. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up smiling and people are going to think you’re, like, a pussycat.”

“Fuck you.” Mickey smirks then ducks his head. “I’m gonna be an asshole a lot. It’s my default setting.”

“I’m a whiny diva a lot.” Ian shrugs. “You’re going to want to punch me. I just prefer you punch me with your mouth.”

“My mouth.”

“Yeah. Like kis-”

“I know what you mean, Gallagher.” Mickey can hear the click of cameras, can see the flashes brighten the room then fade. He doesn’t even mind. “Like this, right?”

Mickey rises up on the balls of his feet and presses a soft kiss to Ian’s lips. Ian opens his eyes slowly when Mickey pulls back. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“You really mean what you said?” Mickey rests his head on Ian’s shoulder. “About fucking tonight?”

“Yeah. I bought out the condoms and lube at the nearest convenience store.” He rubs his hand up and down Mickey’s back. “I meant the other thing too.” Ian pauses and shifts back just a bit. “The ‘I love you’ thing. In case...”

Mickey smiles against Ian’s chest. The sound of the rest of the world is louder, shattering the bubble they’re in. “I knew what you meant that time too.” 

“Right. Right.”

Mickey takes a deep breath and looks up and, for as loud as the world is in his ears, it’s narrowed down so that all he can see is Ian. “Me too. I mean, I’m...kind of in love with you.”

“Kind of?”

“Give me a break, asshole.” Mickey doesn’t look away. The butterflies in his stomach are the same ones that had lodged there during the center opening, and he's not completely sure they'll ever go away. “Told you, I’m new at this too.”


End file.
